Alone
by wbss21
Summary: The Joker once had a life removed from all this, different from what he'd become. But that life was gone, dead. He wasn't even sure if it had ever been real. That is, until she suddenly appeared, and now everything's become confused.
1. Chapter 1

**Alone**

He shifts over, on to his side, and sees her, lying there, sprawled out. He can see her face by the soft light of the moon, filtering through the window of the motel they've holed up in for the night.

She's a heavy sleeper, and though he never would admit to it, he envy's that about her.

He never can sleep.

When he does, its restless, plagued by visions of a life he isn't sure was ever real, emotions in his waking hours he'd convinced himself he was incapable of.

Tonight's been no different.

He watches as her chest rises and falls in an even and steady pattern. She looks peaceful. Content. He wonders why. He treats her badly. He treats everyone badly. Including himself.

She should hate him.

But she doesn't.

He moves to sit up and pushes himself from the mattress. The bed bounces slightly and the springs squeak when he stands, but she doesn't stir. Heavy sleeper.

He steps quietly across the carpet, to the small bathroom, flipping the switch when he gets there. The bright, artificial light fills his eyes and he squints in reflex, though it doesn't really bother him. He closes the door and moves to the sink, starring in to the filth ridden mirror above it. His reflection stares back. His hair is a jumble of thick curls, his face drawn and gaunt. He has a black eye, though that's the extent of his injuries. He touches it. It's sore. He doesn't flinch.

Turning on the faucet, he bends over and cups water in his large hands, splashing it on to his face.

His mind goes back to the girl in the bed.

She's afraid of him. He's made sure of that.

She thinks she loves him. But she doesn't. She's addicted. Obsessed. Intoxicated by the feeling of power he gives her.

How could anyone ever love him?

He presses a palm against the glass.

She's false in her understanding. Not deceitful. Just false. He's told her the truth, explained in great detail the world through his eyes. She nods and tells him he's a genius, says she was blind before, but now she gets it. She doesn't. But she believes she does. And she's addicted to that too. To the feeling that she's privy to some great secrete between them.

He looks down.

No. She doesn't understand. She never could. He always knew that.

Only _he_ knows. He's the only other person who does.

But he refuses it. Fights it.

It hurts. That he won't acknowledge what's shared between them. The unique relation. The unique understanding.

Maybe he doesn't understand.

Maybe he's really the only one.

He's lonely.

He won't admit that either.

A woman's face flashes in his mind. The image is vivid, clear. It's the same woman who always comes. She's beautiful. He can hear her voice, a sweet voice. She's talking to someone. She's telling whoever it is that she loves them, she's proud of them.

Is it him?

No. It couldn't be.

She smiles and he can feel it. His heart flutters and races. Her hand reaches out, cupping someone's face, and suddenly he can feel the warmth of a palm against his cheek. It is him. His skin burns with the intensity of it and his eyes close.

"_I love you Jack. I love you. No matter what happens, as long as we have each other, we'll be alright. I promise you. Okay?"_

_He nods, taking her hand in his own, bending it towards his lips. He kisses it._

"_Okay."_

_She smiles again. He smiles back._

"_Jeannie?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_I love you." _

"_I know."_

"_I… I'd be so lost without you. I'd be so alone. I've got nothing else. Nothing else in this world."_

"_I'll always be here Jack."_

"_Promise?"_

_She smiles._

"_I promise."_

He looks up and notices the mirrors cracked, a split and fractured line running up from where his hand is pressed. He pulls it away, and little shards fall to the sink, and then he sees the blood trickling down his palm. He didn't feel it. Didn't hear it.

That's what happens. When the woman comes. It's like blacking out.

He looks up at his reflection. There's tears running down his face. He wipes them away.

"Puddin'?"

He turns, and there she is, standing in the door way, starring at him with that concerned look.

"Are you alright? Why are ya cryin'?"

He blinks and says nothing for nearly a minute.

"Go back to bed Harley."

"But, yer hand? You hurt yourself." She protests.

"Go back to bed." He says simply, clenching his fist, digging his own nails in to the wound, blood seeping out more quickly.

She looks bemused at what he's doing before bringing her eyes back to his.

"Now." He says, his voice heavy with warning.

She knows enough not to argue.

"Y-yes Mistah J." She turns slowly, back out in to the room.

The Joker looks to himself again. His image is splintered, cracked. He's frowning.

"You lied." He whispers at the mirror. "You didn't stay. You left me alone. With nothing…. Nothing. Everything's nothing…"

He pushes away, off the sink, moving for the door, turning one more time to look at the broken glass.

"And now the world's dead…"

He flips off the switch, heading back towards bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello fellow readers. So, a member her, Jack Napier, gave me the idea for this story, and I thought my original one-shot "Alone" would work well as the opener for it. So here it is, no longer a one-shot. Let me know what you think. I don't want to give away in detail what's going to happen, though I'm sure you can form some kind of idea from this chapter. But again, credit for the idea goes to Jack Napier, so thanks Jack! Hope you like it too! Anyhow, on to the story:**

**Chapter 2:**

As he emerges from the bathroom, he sees Harley, half lying, half sitting in the bed, looking towards him. She can't hide her worry.

It makes him angry.

But he keeps it from his face, walking to the bed.

Slowly he gets back in, pulling the cheap, billowy blanket up over his long legs. Harley is looking at him, and he keeps his eyes fixed away. He knows if he looks at her, he'll probably hit her, and he doesn't feel like dealing with her wailing right now.

Why does he do this?

He wants to leave.

She'll try following him if he does.

He could just kill her.

He _should_ kill her.

But he doesn't want to. He's never really wanted to. And he doesn't know why.

He doesn't love her. He doesn't love anything though.

She annoys him.

He thinks it's her face. It reminds him of…

"You can't sleep again?" He hears her ask.

He still doesn't look at her.

He doesn't answer.

Harley shifts, turning to face him more directly.

"I can rub your tummy." She says, her voice timid and unsure. "Maybe it'll help. Like that time before…"

That time before?

He remembers what she means. But he doesn't really like to remember.

It wasn't that long ago, he thinks. He'd been laying in bed, next to her, like now, awake, thoughts and sounds and images barreling through his mind, so fast he scarcely registered them before the next burst in to view.

He'd been going on sixteen days without sleep at that point, and he was suffering for it. His mind remained sharp, alert, but his body was breaking down, exhaustion clinging to him without respite. He would collapse the next time he tried anything remotely strenuous, that was clear.

He remembered, at some point during the night, _she'd_ again come. He could feel her hands on him, hear her voice, like all the times before and since. She was speaking in almost a whisper then, telling him to relax, to lye back and breath. He remembered a feeling like anxiety gripping his insides. And then he could feel her hands snake beneath his shirt, her fingertips running in tiny circles over his stomach, and the feeling like anxiety went away, his mind shutting down as all he could focus on was her hands, soft and warm against his skin.

But like always, it abruptly ended and he was pulled back to the present, still awake, still exhausted.

That was when he'd looked over at Harley, sleeping, and nudged her harshly on the shoulder, snapping at her to wake up.

She did, and he told her as she lifted her head to look at him, bleary eyed, that he wanted her to rub his stomach. She'd seemed confused at first.

"Rub your stomach?" She questioned as though she'd misheard him.

He wasn't going to explain why, simply repeating the command.

She'd smiled then, happy for the chance at any kind of physical contact, most used to his pushing her away, shrugging her off or reacting violently whenever she tried to touch him.

She did what he told her, and though it had taken a while, eventually, his lids had grown heavy, his breathing more even and steady, and within a few minutes, he'd fallen asleep.

By his standards, he'd slept well. Almost four whole hours.

He realizes he must have spaced out again, because he feels Harley's hands on his stomach now, underneath the wife-beater he's wearing. He realizes suddenly she's sitting right next to him. He didn't see her move that close. She's running her fingertips up and down, and in little circles, like he told her to do that time before. She's looking at his face, and he knows without even looking back that her expression is apprehensive. She's doing this without said permission. He thinks she must have taken his not having answered as some kind of affirmation to proceed.

It feels nice. It's relaxing and… it makes him feel comfortable. Safe, he would say, but there's no such thing, and so he dismisses the notion.

He can feel his lids drooping, his limbs going limp. Sleep is suddenly upon him.

"Is it helping puddin'?"

Harley's voice brings him back, harsh and abrupt. He's at once cruelly aware again, fully awake.

He blinks, and then he looks at her, and her face looks so stupid to him, all wide-eyed and hopeful.

He takes hold of her wrist and squeezes down hard.

She cries out in pain as violently he throws her hand away.

"Get off of me." He hisses.

She falls back, seeing his sudden violence, knowing better then to try and cling to him, though she wants desperately to do just that.

She can't help it as her mouth pulls in to a frown and she looks as though she might cry.

He tears the covers away and pushes himself from the bed, seeming not to notice Harley's sudden distress.

She watches as he moves towards the pile of his earlier discarded clothes. He begins to take them up, pulling on his trousers, then his silk dress shirt.

"A-are you goin' somewhere Mistah J?" She asks as he begins to do up the buttons. Her voice is trembling slightly.

He says nothing, continuing to dress.

Within a minute, he's done and heading for the room's door.

Harley feels herself panic and without thinking, she jumps from the bed and runs for him.

"Wait Mistah J!" She practically yells, grabbing hold of his arm.

His reaction is sudden and violent, turning on her, rearing his arm back and bringing the back of his hand against her jaw.

She's knocked to the floor, grabbing along where he hit her as the pain comes immediately.

She stares up at him, tears quickly pooling in her eyes.

"Don't follow me." He says, his voice emotionless as he looks at her as if she was nothing.

He turns away, moving to the door, and Harley can only look on as he pulls it open, disappearing through it. Disappearing in to the night.

/

It's so late, that even in a city as big and busy as Gotham, there's nobody else around.

It's strangely quiet.

The Bats out there, somewhere, lurking. It's this time when criminals most generally operate. And usually, he'd be no exception.

But tonight he has no plans, no games to play. He just wants to walk, to get away from that motel room, and Harley, and _her_ face.

He realizes this is a foolish notion. One can't escape their own mind, after all. And he would know, considering how often he's tried just that. So her face comes with him, and he ignores it as best he can.

He wishes Batman were here. He wants the distraction.

He could start killing people, if there were any around. That would draw him out for sure.

But there aren't any around, and so he just keeps walking.

It's a while before he reaches a less run down neighborhood. Here there's actually store fronts and restaurants which aren't boarded up and abandoned.

There's a 24 hour coffee shop, a few blocks up. They sell sandwiches and pastries, and he hasn't eaten in three days. That happens usually because he forgets to.

When he reaches it, he walks in.

There's a girl in an apron, sitting at one of the tables, leaned over a magazine.

"Just a minute." She calls.

He doesn't say anything, going to sit at a booth in a corner, away from the windows.

A moment later, and the girls standing in front of him, fumbling with the pocket on her apron, pulling out a notepad.

She hasn't looked at him.

"What can I get for ya?" She asks, and finally she looks up.

Her eyes go wide. She looks startled, and then scared. She drops the pad and pen.

"Oh God…" Her voice comes out in barely a whisper.

He stares back at her, and then he shakes his head, slowly. People usually know what that means.

"Put up the closed sign." He tells her.

"P-please…" She starts to beg. "I don't w-wanna die…"

That only makes him want to hurt her. Why don't they ever understand how obnoxious and pathetic they sound when they do that? People only think about death when it's in front of them.

"The closed sign." He repeats. "Put it up. And get me a ham sandwich with black coffee." His voice is calm, but her blubbering is agitating to him. If she doesn't get to his order right away, he'll smash her temple in to this table's corner.

The girl isn't completely idiotic though, and somehow she realizes through her panic that her best chance of making it out of this alive is to do exactly as he says.

He's encountered plenty who weren't quite so smart.

She runs to the door and flips the open sign over, and then she's behind the counter, preparing his order.

He watches her for a minute.

Her hands are visibly shaking and there are tears streaming down her face.

He hasn't even _done _anything to her.

His eyes slide away, roaming over the place. It's unremarkable, small, with eight tables and two booths. The lighting is harsh and unpleasant.

He looks down at the table, at his hands resting flat atop it.

They're bizarre looking, white as paper, like the rest of him, his nails dark green, contrasting sharply.

No one looks like him.

The doctors at Arkham tell him he should be dead, that his still being alive after falling in to that vat of chemicals defies all logic.

But everything about him does that, he thinks. He's been shot and stabbed more times then he can recall, caught in explosions and fallen from the roofs of multi-story buildings. He should be dead a hundred times over. But he's not. And that's just the way it is.

He always thinks it would be funny if he died from something completely mundane, like choking on a piece of food, or getting hit by a car, or maybe just having a heart attack or tripping and cracking his skull open on the sidewalk.

It's as possible as anything.

He hears the shops door open and immediately looks up.

It was dangerous for him, how he got lost in his own thoughts, rendering himself unaware of what was around him.

"Mame, we're not open!" The girl behind the counter nearly yells, wiping the tear tracks from her face, more out of fear then embarrassment.

"But, the sign over the door says open all night?" The woman who's come in answers.

She doesn't see him yet, but he sees her.

He can feel his throat tighten, his breath catching.

He feels faint, like when they pump him full of those sedatives back in Arkham. The ones that make him dizzy and nauseous.

Maybe he blacked out again, he thinks, and someone gave him something, because what he's seeing can't be real. It can't be. He's hallucinating.

"We're closed!" The girl behind the counter repeats, her voice urgent.

The woman looks confused.

"I'm sorry, it's… I just got in to town and you looked open, so I…"

"Well we're not!" The girl snaps.

The woman blinks, staring at her.

"Okay…" She says.

He stands, and he isn't even sure why. There's actual _apprehension_ in him. He can't remember the last time he'd felt such a thing. He can't remember if he's _ever _felt it.

He steps towards them.

"Wait." He says, and both the girl and woman turn towards him. The girl looks like she's about to scream, and the woman just looks baffled, like she doesn't know what it is she's seeing.

It's _her_, it's her _face_. A little older, but there's no difference otherwise. And the hair's longer.

He can feel his arm lifting, his fingers curling, like he wants to reach out and grab her.

But he stops short.

"Jeannie…?" His voice comes out in a whisper, breathless.

She seems startled now, her eyes widening. And then they narrow, her brow furrowing, and she looks at him hard.

She actually steps closer, and the girl starts to sob, certain they're both going to die.

Abruptly the woman halts, stopping herself.

She suddenly remembers seeing this man's face on the news, and what the news was about.

"No…" She says, stepping back, clearly frightened now. "You're… you're that man, aren't you?" She asks. "The Joker?"

He blinks, his arm falling back to his side.

"How… how do you know that name?" She asks, and her voice trembles.

He only stares back at her.

And then he shakes his head.

"This is a dream." He says to himself.

"What?" The woman asks.

"This is a dream." He repeats. His head moves side to side, as if looking for some kind of confirmation to the statement.

But there is none.

His face snaps back towards her, and now he's frowning.

"Leave me alone." He says.

She's looking at him hard again, studying him, and for some reason he feels uneasy. Like she's looking right through him.

Like maybe she _knows_ him.

"Leave me _alone_!" He spits. "You aren't real. So leave me alone!"

Without warning, he pushes past her and the crying girl, out the shops door.

He doesn't realize how constricted his breath had been until he's outside and practically running from the place.

It was her. _Her_.

He knew her name. Somehow. He'd never known it before. All the times he'd seen her in dreams, in his mind and those flashes of broken, incomplete memory.

But it must have been one of his blackouts. A hallucination. Because she isn't real. None of that's real. Nothing but him and the Bat and this city, and the dance they share between them.

Nothing but that is real.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys, so, here's the next chapter. Tell me what you think. I got help on this chapter from a member here, Themadcaplaughs. She helped me to write certain sections, mostly the section near the very end. So credit goes out to her for all her awesome help. Hope you enjoy and reviews, as always, are highly appreciated!**

**Chapter 3:**

He finally stops moving when he comes to a tiny little park, about three miles from the coffee shop. Walking silently across the grass, he looks around, making sure he's alone, making sure there aren't any of those teenagers who like to come to places like this at night and make out.

He doesn't want to have to keep going. And if there was anyone here, he would. He's tired, for some reason, exhausted even. His mind won't rest.

He approaches a wooden bench, nearly collapsing on to it. And then he leans forward, burying his face in his large hands.

God, her _face_. He couldn't escape her face, the way her bright blue eyes had bored into him.

He was famous for his stare, for forcing anyone who dared try and match his gaze to eventually look away, troubled by what they'd seen there.

He thinks maybe he knows what that feels like now, because he'd had to look away from her. It had been as though she could see straight through him, the way he always saw straight through everyone else, and it had left him feeling… he couldn't even think of the word. Not afraid. He wasn't even sure what fear felt like, since he couldn't remember a time in his life when it had taken him. It was something else. Like suffocation, like drowning. He knew what _that_ felt like. How often he became overwhelmed by the ceaselessness of his own mind.

He'd wanted to reach out and touch her, and he couldn't understand why he hadn't. There was fear in her eyes. But there was fear in everyone's eyes when they laid eyes on him. Everyone but the Bat. Yet somehow that had stopped him. He knew if he laid his hands on her, she would react with horror, and the notion had bothered him somehow.

Why? Why had it bothered him?

That was always a delight, to see the honesty of people's fear.

But in her face, he didn't want to see it. He didn't want to _cause_ it.

Apprehension, doubt, hesitation.

These things didn't exist in the Joker's world. Not for himself.

And yet, there they were, all brought to bear by a woman from his imagination, nothing more then a kind of memory, a ghost from a past he wasn't even sure was real.

He couldn't believe that had been real.

God he wished Batman were here.

This draws a giggle from him.

If Batman were here, he'd likely get beaten up and hauled off, back to Arkham, somewhere he didn't at all feel like being right now.

But at least that was something he could understand.

He was confused now, and it wasn't a feeling he particularly enjoyed. It was so rare for him to be confused at all.

He lifts his face to the sky. The black is turning blue. There's a rivulet of gold along the edge. He hears the first chirrups of birdsong. It's close to dawn.

It would be daylight soon. Within the next hour, he guesses.

He knows he should probably get off the streets.

His face is too recognizable to be walking around in broad daylight.

/

The large, metal mass of a vehicle pulls in to the caves entrance, coming to a halt along a lighted platform, the echo of its whining engine fading off against the stone walls as it shuts down.

The roof slides open and Batman comes leaping from the cabin. Alfred stands by, holding a platter of freshly made tea.

"Good morning, Master Bruce," he says, with characteristic crisp efficiency. "Things went well?"

Bruce walks past him, not bothering to take a cup.

"It went alright," he says, going straight for the computer console. He says nothing else.

Alfred follows him, dutifully, standing silent as the crusader pulls the cowl from his head and sits.

"Any luck in finding…"

"No." Bruce cuts him short. His voice is agitated.

Alfred says nothing is reply.

Eventually, after several minutes, the detective reaches out, taking a cup of the tea and bringing it to his lips as he goes over a schematic layout for some part of downtown Gotham.

The Joker had escaped from Arkham some two months ago, accompanied by Harley Quinn, but since then, he'd fallen off the radar.

It was cause for concern.

Usually when the Joker waited to make any sort of move, it meant he had something big on the agenda. Something catastrophic, with high drama and an even higher body count.

Bruce's edginess these past weeks had been a reflection of that concern.

"I need to _find_ him before he strikes." The vigilante says. "A police report was filed tonight. A woman who works at a 24-hour coffee shop says the Joker came in there at around 4:30 this morning."

"I hope no one was hurt." The butler offers.

Bruce shakes his head.

"No one was hurt. But something strange happened."

"I would think that's par for the course where the Joker is concerned, if you'll pardon my saying so, Sir."

"The girl who works there says he sat at one of the booths and ordered a sandwich and coffee, and that he told her to put up the closed sign."

Alfred says nothing, waiting patiently for his employer to continue.

"But she said a woman came in shortly afterward."

"Did she not see the sign?"

"Apparently not. The girl says she tried to get her to leave, fearing for both their lives."

"Understandably." Alfred replies.

Bruce nods. "But that's not what's strange. The girl says the Joker approached the two of them as they were arguing."

"Oh dear."

"She told the police both the woman and the Joker had seemed almost… _enthralled_ with one another."

"_Enthralled, _sir?"

"She said the Joker had stared at the woman as if confused by her. And then he called her by a name, and the woman seemed equally perplexed. What's weird is that, after all this, the Joker suddenly became very agitated, she said, and started to rant and rave about this woman not being real before pushing past both of them, and practically running from the place."

"How very … odd." Alfred says. "And what does the woman say?"

Bruce shakes his head.

"I don't know. The girl said she left shortly after the Joker, acting similarly disturbed. The police are trying to track her down as we speak, but the description doesn't give much to go on. The girl said she looked to be in her late 30s or early 40s, blonde hair, blue eyes, around 5'5" or 5'6", slight build. Nothing extraordinary. She said the woman told her she'd just arrived in town."

"A veritable needle in a haystack, in a city this size." Alfred says wryly.

"That was three hours ago." Bruce continues. "It's unlikely the Joker is still in the area. But the woman might be. That would make things easier."

"What name did the Joker call her by, may I ask?"

"The girl couldn't remember. She was extremely upset."

"Of course."

"But the woman may have some sort of connection to him, and if she does, we need to find her and talk to her as soon as possible."

/

She turns on the uncomfortable mattress for what must be the hundredth time, still unable to sleep.

She's traumatized, she thinks. How many people run in to the _Joker_, especially on their first night back in Gotham in more then thirteen years?

God, she wouldn't have even come back to this fucking city if it weren't for her landing that Editorial position at the Gazette. The pay was just too good. She couldn't in good conscience turn it down. Not when she had Rory to consider.

He would be flying in later that day. The airline had overbooked, screwing up their flight. Her new position would start tomorrow, and she wasn't about to let him come to Gotham by himself. She'd been nervous about letting him even _fly_ by himself, but he'd reassured her that it was okay, reminding her he was almost fourteen years old and that he wasn't a kid anymore.

She was going to meet him at the airport at around three that afternoon.

But now, she was second guessing this move altogether. Within an hour of her landing and she'd almost lost her life to a complete psychopath.

Somehow though, her running into the Joker wasn't the thing that had bothered her the most, though that had been bad enough. What was keeping her awake now, if she was being honest with herself, was what he had _said_ to her.

He'd known her _name_. But more then that, it was her _nickname_, the name no-one had had called her by since…

She shakes her head, trying to rid her mind of old memories. Memories which she knows will only cause her heart to sink in terrible depression.

But once she starts thinking of him, she can't stop. She never can.

She sees his handsome, smiling face, as clear as if it were only yesterday, regaling her with his fanciful stories, making her laugh. His sense of humor was peculiar, she remembers, the kind only she seemed to get. But she remembers too what a gifted performer he was, how brilliantly theatrical and charismatic he was.

Sometimes, he would get so in to the performance that he would forget where he was.

Even seemed to forget _who_ he was.

That used to worry her so much.

But she worried about him constantly.

It was difficult for him. He didn't fit in, not anywhere really.

And he had tried so hard, wanted so badly to make a better life for her. All he used to talk about, near the end, was getting them out of the Narrows, in to a safer part of town. How he would do _anything_ to ensure that for her and their coming child.

But he was so easily depressed. It didn't help that people viewed him as an eccentric. She laughs bitterly. That was a nice way of putting what most people used to call him, and to his face.

People were cruel.

Jack was different, but it was because he was brilliant. People just hadn't understood.

He would have trouble holding down jobs because of that, and he would always come down so hard on himself whenever he was fired.

She had worried during those times that he would hurt himself in some way.

More then once, he'd come back home, beaten all to hell.

He always refused to talk about it, brushing off her concern and attempts to help him. He would lie, saying he'd tripped and hit his face on the sidewalk.

She'd known what was happening though. That he was getting beat up by some boys who'd decided to make him their punching bag. Guys who thought it'd be funny to kick the shit out of the local "freak".

And living where they did, no one would ever help anyone who was getting their face pounded in. It was like Darwinism in action.

_By itself, the ruckus from outside wouldn't have drawn her to the window, one was wise to keep to themselves and keep out of confrontations when living in the Narrows, except that she had distinctly heard Jack's voice, and she knew immediately there was trouble._

_Her fears had been confirmed when she looked through the dirty glass of the one window in their apartment and saw Jack, surrounded by a group of five boys, each who looked to be eighteen or nineteen. _

_They were shouting at him, gesturing towards him threateningly, while all he did was stand, quiet and composed, as was his way. He didn't look frightened, his expression blank. _

_One of them reached out and shoved him against the shoulder, causing him to stumble back a step. _

_Jeannie had felt her heart stop._

_Oh God, no._

_She saw him say something to them, the same, stoic look on his face._

"_Jesus, Jack," she thought. "Don't. Don't provoke them."_

_But he had. The man had always been too stubborn for his own good; too damn brave._

_A moment later, and all five boys rushed him._

_Jeannie screamed as she watched one of them throw a hook right against Jack's jaw, dropping him immediately to the ground. _

_Oh Christ, he didn't stand a chance. Even against one of those boys, he'd likely have trouble, being slight as he was, his great height only serving to accentuate his thin frame, seeming to invite people's inclination to bully him._

_Jeannie knew it was unwise to draw attention to herself, but she didn't care. She threw the window open, beginning to scream her lungs out, screaming for them to stop, to leave him alone as she watched them kick him in the stomach and back, pulling him up by the hair and punching him in the face._

_But of course, they didn't. _

_She ran to the phone then, dialing 911, knowing it was futile. The police couldn't care less about people living in the Narrows. _

_The woman on the other end had promised to send a patrol unit, but Jeannie hadn't believed her. And she's been right not too, because no car ever came. All she could do was go back to the window and watch as they beat her husband to a bloody pulp, her cries for them to stop doing nothing to deter them._

_It must have lasted ten solid minutes before they finally grew bored and walked away. And the whole time, Jack hadn't made a sound. Hadn't cried out or begged for them to stop. Hadn't screamed._

_As soon as the boys were out of sight, she ran from their tiny apartment, out on to the street._

"_Oh Christ, Jack!" She cried, running to his side. "Jack!" _

_She practically fell to her knees, taking gentle hold of his head, cradling it._

_He'd been coming home from work. They hadn't enough money to afford a car, and so he always had to walk. That's why things like this kept happening._

"_Oh God, baby, please…" _

_He pushed her hands away._

"_I'm alright!" He hissed, rolling away from her, struggling to push himself to his feet. _

_Jeannie reached out. "Oh God, Jack… Look what they did to you!"_

"_It's fine!"he said, turning away from her, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Blood ran profusely from it, and the taste of copper filled his mouth, making him sick. "You shouldn't have y-yelled out the window like that. They… they might have come after you." _

_Pain shot up both his sides and down his back, and he had difficulty straightening himself as he stumbled towards their tenement building, Jeannie following worriedly behind._

_He was deeply ashamed. _

_Now she knew the truth. Knew what had been happening to him when he would return home with a blacked eye or a swollen lip. Knew that she was married to a goddamned pansy. Just like his bastard of a father used to tell him. Used to __show__ him._

_When they'd gotten back upstairs, she tried helping him again, tried to make him sit down and put an ice pack to his face. But he refused, instead heading straight for the bathroom and slamming the door behind him, locking it._

_He didn't come out for half an hour. When he finally did emerge, he'd clearly taken a shower, washing the blood off his face. But already the bruising had begun to set in, and Jeannie noted with dismay that he wouldn't even look at her. She tried making eye contact, and each time he would turn away, casting his gaze to the floor or averting it to the side._

"_I'm tired Jeannie," he said. "I just want to sleep."_

_She could see the humiliation on his face, hear it in his voice._

_She wanted so badly to tell him he had nothing to be ashamed of; that she wasn't going to judge him for what happened. But she knew it would probably only make things worse. If he knew she could see his embarrassment, he would be even more self-conscious and upset._

_He never wanted to seem weak in front of her. _

_He couldn't bear the thought of it. _

_So she let it alone._

"_Aren't you hungry? I made dinner."_

"_I just want to go to bed," he repeated, staring at the floor._

"_A-alright Jack." She said. "We can go to sleep if you like."_

_He only nodded, still refusing to look at her as he simply crawled in to bed, wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, pulling the covers up, over his shoulder and turning on his side._

_Jeannie quickly gathered up the food she'd prepared, covering it up and putting it in to the fridge, turning out the lights before following him into the bedroom._

_For several minutes she stared at him, knowing he was awake, but watching as he pretended to be asleep. He rarely slept well, suffering terribly from insomnia. _

_Finally, when she'd resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to acknowledge her or what had happened, that he could just lie there all night, pretending to be asleep, she turned out the beside lamp and laid down on her own side. _

_Within a few minutes, unconsciousness had taken her._

She'd told him the next morning that he shouldn't talk back to the hooligans; that he was going to get himself killed one day if he didn't stop it. But he'd shrugged her off and told her not to worry about him, that he was _fine_ and could take care of himself, before he'd headed out to his second job.

She wanted so much to tell him he didn't have to be brave for her, that she would never see him as weak, no matter what.

But she'd never gotten the chance…

Her mind snaps back to the present, and to what else was keeping her from sleep.

The Joker.

God, but he'd looked just _like_ him.

Under normal circumstances, it never would have crossed her mind, she thinks, except for his _eyes_. They were _his_ eyes, of that there could be no doubt.

But she'd _seen_ the Joker; or rather, she'd seen photos of him in the national newspapers and online. Usually police mug shots, his features contorted from that cheek-splitting grin of his. Occasionally there would be pictures of him acting up in court, laughing hysterically, giving the moon to the judge, or pulling a silly face.

The Joker's face, it seemed, was in constant flux. He always seemed to be laughing or smiling, and it was hard to get a lock on what he looked like when he wasn't doing either of those things. Of course, the media always wanted The Grin. _That _was his trademark. It added to his boogeyman quality. Shifted copies. But Jack's smile, on the other hand, had been gentle, pensive, a little sad, even. It bore no resemblance whatsoever to the Joker's infamous rictus.

And consequently, the association had never occurred to her. Not even once.

Those features, however, did _not_ lie. It was the first time she had ever seen the Joker in person, and the only time she had seen his face in repose.

And it was clear he had the rest of Jack's features; the only difference being that dead white skin, those red lips and that dark green hair.

But no, that's _impossible, _she thinks.

She _knows_ it can't be him because he's _dead_.

He died fourteen years ago, while she was still pregnant. The police had told her so. They told her he'd been killed working for the mob; that they'd never been able to find the body.

She brings her hands to her head, gripping down tight.

God, she hadn't even _known_ he was involved in all that mess.

If she had, maybe she could have helped him, maybe she could have…

But no, that's in the past. There's nothing she can do about it anymore. He's gone and there's nothing anyone can do.

_That lunatic in the coffee shop, that wasn't him_, she thinks. It was just her mind, playing tricks on her. Her wishful thinking blinding her to what was really there. Because if Jack _had_ survived … he would have come back to her. She'd never doubted that. She was all he had in the world, after all.

She's sure of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**So, here's the next chapter guys. Another shout out goes to TheMadCapLaughs for helping me out and contributing to the chapter. She's been a massive inspiration and given me awesome ideas! Hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think!**

**Chapter 4:**

He spotted her from the top of a two story building, wandering aimlessly. He realizes this is potentially a trap, that the Joker might have sent her out to gauge his location. It wouldn't be the first time the madman had done such.

But he can see Harley is distressed, and she looks herself like she's in search of something.

His eyes scan down each way of the street, looking for signs of an ambush, but everything is still; silent.

He thinks she's alone.

And so he drops down, quietly, landing some twenty feet behind her. She doesn't notice, and only when he's nearly upon her does she turn, clearly startled, crying out at the sight of him.

She jumps back.

"S-stay away from me B-Man!"

She starts to turn, to run, but Batman reaches out, taking hold of her arm and yanking her back.

She struggles viciously to free herself, but he holds her fast.

"Where _is_ he Harley?" He snarls against her ear.

"I ain't tellin' you _nothin_', you big bully!" She screams, continuing to fight, thrashing wildly.

The back of her head collides with his face and instantly he becomes agitated.

His hold on her tightens.

"Ow! H-hey, you're h-hurting me!" She cries.

"I'm _not _playing around Harley!" He spits. "Tell me where he is _now_!"

"N-No!" She replies, trying in vain to break out of his hold.

Batman is losing his patience now and suddenly, without warning, he slams her on to the concrete, wrenching her arm behind her back, threatening to break it.

"This isn't a _game _Harley! Tell me where the Joker is!"

She screams out in pain.

"Ahhh, s-stop!" She gasps. "STOP!"

"_Tell me_!"

"I-I don't k-know! Alright? I don't k-know where he w-went!"

He increases the pressure and her voice pitches higher with the pain.

"J-Jesus Christ Batman. I don't KNOW! We were hold up at a Motel 6, down on th-Thirty-Second street. He l-left without… without tellin' me nothin'. He t-told me not to fo-follow him! Alright? I been lookin' for him s-since yesterday! Ow! Damn it, let me GO!"

Finally he relinquishes his hold, pulling her up on to her feet.

"You're going back to Arkham." He says coldly.

"Aw, come ON B-man. Don't put me back in there. I could help ya find him, ya know? I know all his hideouts and stuff."

"So do I." Batman answers, pulling a pair of cuffs from his belt and yanking her hands behind her back.

"B-but Batman, I _can't _be back in Arkham. T-there's somethin' wrong with him. I'm so worried. He's been actin' real strange lately."

This gave the crusader pause.

"Acting strange _how_?" He asks.

Harley shrugs.

"I don't know. Just… depressed, I guess. I caught him in the bathroom the other night. He'd broken the mirror in there and cut himself real bad and…"

"And _what_?" Batman pushes.

"He'll get real mad if he finds out I told you."

"I'll get _real mad_ if you _don't _tell me."

He feels the girl stiffen in his grip.

"O-okay. Okay. Just d-don't hurt me anymore. Alright?"

He doesn't answer, just waits.

"He… he was c-cryin'."

"… _Crying_?"

Bruce isn't quite sure he heard her right.

"Y-yeah. And not the kind he does when's he's lauhin' hard neither. There were just these tears, runnin' down his face and…"

"_Why_?" Batman cuts her short.

"I d-don't know." She says. "H-he wouldn't tell me. He just kept actin' like nothin' was wrong. Come on Bats, lemme help you find him! I'm worried!"

Batman shakes his head, resuming in cuffing her.

"I can't do that Harley." He answers.

She let's out a frustrated howl, but more or less seems resigned to her situation as he leads her towards his car, parked a block down.

As they approach she suddenly stops, and he hears as she lets go a shaky breath.

"Promise me you'll find him." She says. "Promise you'll make sure he's alright."

The detective pauses, casting his eyes to the ground.

He always felt sorry for this girl. She was so absurdly devoted to the madman, and she didn't even know why.

"I'll do what I can Harley."

/

He'd found a condemned tenement building to stay in. There'd been two homeless men sleeping there, but the moment they saw him, they'd scattered like rats.

He's been here since this morning, and now the sun is starting to set.

He tried sleeping again, but only managed about thirty minutes.

How he'd gotten even that much in, he doesn't know.

He's standing by a broken window, staring out at the street. Nobodies come by in hours.

There's pain in his stomach, and he's vaguely aware of it. It makes him think of the coffee shop… and that woman. But then, he hasn't been able to _stop_ thinking of her since he went from the place.

Had he hallucinated her interaction with the girl working there too? That seemed unlikely. Whenever he'd had visions of her in the past, she'd never been interacting with anyone… outside himself.

And then there was her face, and her hair. The woman in the coffee shop, it had been her, but she'd been older, and her hair longer. He'd never seen her like that before…

He shakes his head, pressing his palms flat against his forehead.

He needs a distraction. He can't keep doing this, letting these absurd thoughts dampen his mood.

He's beyond this.

Beyond this kind of _weakness_.

He already accepts the cruelty of the world, embraces it.

Nothing to be lost in a meaningless existence.

The best way to distance his mind from her, he suddenly thinks, is to focus on the thing which consumes his thoughts even more.

And to do that, he realizes, he has to draw him out.

That's something he's good at.

That's something he knows how to do better then anyone else in this city.

/

Batman can hardly believe it as the receiver in his cowl crackles to life and he hears the police report an attack at Buzz's Bowling Alley, down on Essex and 52nd, identifying the Joker as its instigator.

The detective thinks briefly that Harley may have set him up, led out as a distraction to draw him away from the place, since he was only now leaving Arkham after having dropped her off.

But no, not with how distressed the girl had been. He could tell she was sincere when she said she had no clue where the Joker was.

The timing of this was mere coincidence.

And it didn't matter now.

He had the madman within his grasp, and he wasn't going to let him slip away again.

/

There was a loud banging on her door, causing her to jump visibly in her seat.

Rory stood up from where he was lying on the floor, doing his homework.

"I'll get it!" He announced.

"Rory, no!" She nearly yelled, shooting out of the chair and walking fast to intercept him.

She wasn't about to allow him to answer any doors, not in a city like Gotham.

"Just stay here." She said, moving in front of him.

He doesn't disobey her, standing and watching as she moves for the door.

She stops by it momentarily, looking through the peephole, her heart quickening at the prospect of what she might find.

This damn city. If her position at the Gazette didn't pay so well, she never would have come back. She can't stand living like this, she thinks, living in constant fear.

There's two men standing outside, in the hallway, one dressed in a beige trench coat, the other in a rumpled-looking suit.

She unlocks the door, keeping the chain in place, and opens it slowly.

"Can I help you?" She asks, looking through the crack towards them.

"Jeanette Reinking?" The man in the trench started. He reached in to his pocket, pulling out a folded up, leather wallet. Flipping it open, he held it in front of her. "Gotham PD." He continued as her eyes ran over the gold badge. "Mind if we have a word with you?"

Her eyes move back up to his face. He's sporting a five o'clock shadow and a little heavyset, though strong looking, and hard, like he's seen more then most.

"What's this about?" She questions, still not undoing the chain.

"You had an encounter, about a week ago?" The other man speaks now. "At an all-night coffee shop, down on West 42nd Street?"

Her eyes grow slightly wide, and she swallows, hard, her heart again beating hard in her chest.

'Oh God, what?' She wonders. Did the lunatic somehow find out she'd been looking in to him? Was he after her now? Were they here to tell her he'd gone back to the shop after she left and killed that poor girl?

A million thoughts raced through her head at the possibilities, and she was afraid her voice might fail her when next she spoke, her throat had gone so dry.

"Y-yes." She answered.

"Ms. Reinking…" The man in the trench started. "I'm Detective Bullock, and this here's my partner, Detective Rios. That man you encountered, he goes by the name of the Joker. You might've heard of him? He's the most wanted criminal, not just in this _state_, but in the country, and he's also considered the most dangerous. Can we come in? We've got some questions we'd like to ask you."

"Mom, what's going on?" She heard Rory ask behind her.

She turned to look at him.

"Nothing sweetheart. Listen, why don't you go to your room and finish your homework there, okay?"

"But Mom!"

"_Now _Rory." She ordered, her voice stern.

"Aw, Mom…" The boy sulked, turning around, scooping up his books and papers and heading, disgruntled, off to his room.

As soon as she saw his door close, she turned back to the officers, unlatching the chain.

"Sorry about that." She offered an apology. "Please, come in."

She threw the door wide and stepped aside, allowing the two men access.

Quietly, she closed it behind them, and then turned, smiling.

"Won't you sit down?" She said, gesturing towards the couch.

The one in the trench, Bullock, nodded, and made for the seat, Rios following behind.

"Would you like anything?" She asked. "Anything to eat or drink?"

"Yeah, I'll have some coffee, if you don't mind." Bullock answered.

She smiled warmly at him.

"Certainly. And for you?" She looked to the other man.

He smiled tightly, putting a hand up.

"I'm fine."

She gave a nod.

"Okay then. It'll just be a minute. I've already got a fresh pot up."

The two detectives watched as she disappeared in to what presumably was the kitchen, a few moments later reemerging with a decorative, porcelain cup and saucer.

"Here you are." She bent carefully, handing the drink to Bullock.

"Thanks." He said, taking it from her hands, bringing it to his lips and taking a small sip.

"That's real good coffee." He offered as she sat in a chair opposite them.

His eyes ran over her frame and then her face, noting how petite she was, and how good looking. Her features were delicate, her face a kind of heart shape, perfectly symmetrical.

She was what Bullock would have referred to as a 'looker'.

"Thank you." She replied to his compliment. "And you're welcome."

He placed the cup back on the saucer, and then placed that on the table between them.

"Ms. Reinking, I hate to be so forward. But can you tell us why it is you took off after your encounter with the Joker and failed to inform the police of what had happened?" He looked at her pointedly, hard, and she couldn't help the look of mild shock which ran across her features.

"I hope you aren't implying I'm in some way involved with…" She began.

"We're not implying that maim." Rios cut her off. "We're just trying to be thorough. The Joker is extremely dangerous. Any information which may lead to his whereabouts, I'm sure you understand, we have to follow through on."

She gives them a nod, feeling suddenly very nervous.

"The girl at the coffee shop…" Bullock came in. "She says the Joker had an… _unusual _reaction towards you. And you to him. You maybe want to explain what happened?"

She swallowed hard, casting her eyes to her lap.

"I'm sorry, it's just… I was very frightened. I should have told the police, I know that, but I…"

"We understand Ms. Reinking. It's not every day you encounter the most wanted criminal in the country." Rios reassured her.

She gave another nod, her gaze still fixed on her lap.

"It… it was all very sudden." She started. "I'd just come in from California that night. I came here with my son, Rory." She motioned with her head to the boys room. "Well, he came in on a flight the next day. The airline overbooked, and he had to stay behind…"

"We're aware of all that Ms. Reinking." Bullock stopped her. "It's how we found you. The girl, from the shop, she remembered you telling her you'd just got in and we cross-referenced her description of you with all the woman who'd come in to Gotham that night by plane."

She looked up at him, her eyes slightly wide.

"Oh." She said.

"So you were saying?" He pushed.

"Well I… I was very tired, and hungry. It had been a very long flight, and I didn't have any food or anything at the apartment. So I went looking for a place and saw this coffee shop, which said open all night above the door. And I thought it would be alright to go in."

She paused, again looking down.

"And?" Rios asked.

"S-so… I went in, and the girl working the counter, she started yelling at me to leave, saying they were closed, and I was confused of course because… well, because of the open all night sign."

The two men nodded.

"I didn't… I didn't even see him until he came up to us and…"

"The Joker approached you?" Bullock interrupted. He already knew that, but he wanted confirmation from this woman.

She nodded.

"I was just about to leave, and he stopped me."

"Stopped you?"

"Y-yes. He called out for me to wait and then…" She paused, her eyes drifting to the side, to a shelf which held a number of framed photographs on it. "He…"

"It's alright Ms. Reinking." Rios said. "Take your time."

"He said my name." She finally breathed. "But… but …"

"What?" Bullock pushed. "But what?"

"He said Jeannie, not Jeanette." She brought her eyes back to them. "Only one person used to call me by that name, and that was my husband."

"Your husband?" Bullock leaned forward, clearly interested now.

She gave a nod.

"And where is your husband Ms. Reinking, if you don't mind my asking?"

"… He's… He's dead." She said quietly, her eyes again looking down.

This seemed to surprise the detective and he sat back.

"Dead?"

"He died a long time ago. When I was still pregnant with Rory. I moved from Gotham shortly after. There was no reason for me to stay here anymore."

Bullock brought his hand to his chin, running his fingers over the stubble which covered it, looking pensive.

"Do you have any idea how the Joker might've known your name? Specifically a name your husband used to call you?"

She shook her head forcefully.

"I have no idea."

"You sure 'bout that?" Bullock pressed.

She began nervously to finger the material of her dress, her throat again feeling dry.

Should she tell them? If she didn't, she knew they could just look her file up, find out Jack's name and find out about his involvement with the mob. And then they'd be suspicious of her for holding back information, might think she was somehow involved with the Joker.

"My husband he… he was killed while… while working for the mob." She blurted, her eyes shifting up.

This seemed to catch both Bullock's and Rios' attention and they both leaned forward.

"The mob?" Rios questioned.

She shook her head.

"Jack, he… he wasn't a criminal, not by any stretch of the imagination. We didn't have a lot of money back then, and he… he had trouble holding down jobs. I didn't… I didn't even _know_ he'd been involved with anything like that until… until after he'd been killed. The police told me… they said he'd been caught in the crossfire of some kind of… of _shootout_, that he'd escaped. But when he didn't come back I… I knew something was wrong. He would have come back to me if he could. They told me I should leave Gotham, that there was a danger of the men he'd involved himself with coming after me. They told me they'd keep searching for him… that they'd let me know if they found him, but… but they never did and after a few months he… he was presumed dead…" She shook her head. "I had a memorial stone erected after a while. After I finally was able to accept it." She looked at both of them hard then. "Jack wasn't a criminal. He was a good man. A _good_ man. He never would have involved himself in something like that unless he was desperate, unless he felt he… he didn't have a choice." She shook her head, her eyes dropping again to her hands. "We were living in the Narrows then, he didn't have work. He blamed himself for our situation."

Rios nodded, but Bullock looked skeptical.

"And he never mentioned anything to you? Never told you about his involvement with these people."

Suddenly she looked up, and her expression had once more hardened.

"Jack would _never_ have involved himself with someone like the Joker." She said. "There's just no way. No way he would ever do something like that. No matter how bad things got. He was a _good _man."

She felt suddenly angry at the detective, knowing what he was implying.

"Hey, easy now. I'm just trying to figure out how it is the Joker would know to call you by a name only your husband ever did. This is all for your benefit Ms. Reinking. We're just looking out for your safety and the safety of your son."

She felt the anger slightly dissipate from her, and she breathed out, trying to calm down.

"I know." She said. "But I'm telling you, I have _no_ idea how it is that lunatic knew my name. And there's no way my husband was ever involved with him. _No _way. If you had known Jack, you would…" She shook her head, turning it away.

Bullock sighed.

"Alright. I think we've taken up enough of your time." He said, standing, Rios following the action. "If you think of anything else, anything unusual or any detail you might've overlooked, just give this number a call and ask for either one of us." He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her.

She stared at it a moment before taking it, nodding slightly.

"I will." She said.

Bullock nodded in return, placing his fedora back atop his head before striding for the door.

"Thanks for your time." He said as he reached it, his hand on the knob. He looked like he was about to pull it open when he paused, turning towards her. "Oh, Ms. Reinking, one last thing. The girl at the coffee shop, she said when the Joker spoke to you, you stepped towards him, like maybe you knew him or somethin'."

She stared at the gruff man a moment, blinking, not knowing what to say.

She couldn't even explain to herself why she'd done what she did.

Bullock shrugged when he saw she wasn't going to say anything.

"Just thought that was a little strange, ya know. Most people run screamin' from that freak-show."

She felt her mouth pull in to a frown at the terminology, her mind immediately drifting back, to those times when people used to call Jack a freak, right to his face.

"I'm not sure what you're implying, Detective Bullock." She said. "But whatever it is, I assure you, you couldn't be more wrong."

The man pursed his lips, staring back at her, clear pessimism in his eyes.

And then he shrugged again, this time opening the door.

"Alright Ms. Reinking." He said. "I'm sure we'll be in touch."

"I'm sure." She said flatly, watching as the two men took their leave, Rios closing the door behind them.

Immediately she stood from her chair, crossing the room and doing up the deadbolt and chain.

'Bastard." She thought, turning to check on Rory.


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay guys! So, once again, I was helped with this chapter by TheMadCapLaughs. She's my beta, in case you hadn't figured out, lol. She basically wrote the first few paragraphs of this chapter. Once again, thank you to all my readers and reviewers! You guys are highly, highly appreciated and I'd love to hear what you all think of this installment. Good or bad, I welcome all feedback. Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 5:**

It's late, hour's since those detectives had come in to her home to question her.

And she can't sleep. Can't stop thinking.

Rory had asked repeatedly what it was they had wanted, and she'd lied to him, told him they just wanted to know about a robbery which had occurred at a convenience shop across the street. She hated lying to him. He was a smart kid, and she always feared he could see right through her.

Eventually she'd sent him off to bed, telling him he had school in the morning.

He'd been reluctant to go, but didn't rebel.

He's a good boy, she thinks. A sweet boy.

Like Jack had been.

There's no point in trying to sleep now. She's got to go to work in a few hours, and she'll feel worse if she gets only an hour or two of rest as opposed to none at all.

Hauling herself out of the bed, she pads out of her room, in to the living area and over to her laptop, plugging it in and switching it on. She connects to the Internet. She types 'the Joker' into Google, and clicks on Images.

Thousands of photographs pop up. In most of them, he's being hauled away by cops, goofing about in a courtroom, or facing the camera dead-on in a series of mugshots. There are literally hundreds of mugshots, from various stages of his 'career'. His hairstyle differs from one picture to the next. In some, it's a 1950s-style quaff. In others, it's slicked back, or spiked straight up with gel, or there are curls falling onto his forehead. There are even a couple of shots of him with long hair.

But his expression never changes. Same skeletal grin; same eyes. There's movement in those eyes; something that never sleeps. But there's a dead quality too. It's like staring into the icy heart of a comet.

Then she finds it. It's a still from an infamous 2005 documentary on serial killers. The Joker was one of several subjects interviewed for the project. The film has since acquired a sort of morbid cult status; not least because each and every member of the crew was later found murdered in uniquely horrifying ways. And all because they'd had the "gall," in the Joker's own words, to "make him share billing with a bunch of D-listers and rank amateurs." This after they'd allegedly promised him that he would be the 'star.' Such measures were necessary, apparently, to ensure his co-operation.

But there were other reasons why the film had been withdrawn from circulation. The crew had shot close to twenty hours' worth of footage with the Joker, yet just a single hour of that footage eventually made the final cut. Partway through a seven-hour test screening in New York, one of the viewers walked out of the theatre, down to the subway, then threw himself in front of a passing train. There were reports of other, non-fatal walkouts; of vomiting in the aisles. Several viewers had to be treated for depression in the aftermath. And it all had to do with the way the Joker had recounted his crimes. The other participants had, in the main, displayed no emotion when being interviewed. A remorseful few had even cried. The Joker, on the other hand, maintained a positively cheerful demeanor throughout; gleefully describing each death in garish detail, as if he were talking about the world's tastiest ice-cream sundae. This was interspersed with fragments of his personal philosophy on life and death, delivered in a rational-sounding, almost reassuring tone.

Aware of the triggering potential of his words, and fearful of a backlash from the families of his victims, the producers cut out a great deal of the Joker's talk. This resulted in a declawed four-hour edition that gave equal weight to the other featured killers, yet lacked the chilling, corrosive power of the original. But the movie still failed to find a distributor. Word got back to the clown, who was furious at his "art" being "compromised for the benefit of the lumpen masses." He escaped from Arkham that night, and within a week, everyone who had worked on the film was dead.

Shortly afterwards, the film was banned. Nobody – not a single television network, arthouse cinema, or obscure film festival - wanted to touch it, fearing reprisals from the clown. Just one copy of the seven-hour uncut version was said to be still in existence, but nobody knew who had it. Moreover, the original twenty-hour Joker footage had apparently disappeared from the face of the earth. Burned, it was rumored. Possibly by the Joker himself.

She finds herself staring at the picture, and notices suddenly that the tips of her fingers have gone numb, and that, like earlier, when she'd heard the knock on the door, her heart is racing in her chest. But it's for an entirely different reason now. Not from fear of the unknown. No. It's instead a kind of dawning dread, a sickening realization of what it is she's looking at.

The Joker's is staring at the camera, that same, cold look in his eyes, and that accompanied by a piercing glare, as though he's seeing right through the screen, right in to her face. But it isn't this which gives her pause. It's the way his mouth is twisted, to the side, up along his right cheek. The shape it makes when like that.

Images of Jack flash in her mind, conversations they'd had, when he had been trying so hard to convince her of something, one of his radical, silly notions, and how he'd always twist his mouth up like that, up along the right side of his face, when he couldn't seem to get her to understand. It was something he always did when he was frustrated. The shape of his mouth when he did that, the look of his face… it was exactly the same as the face she now stared at on the computer screen.

'No…' She thinks. 'No!'

"Ms. Reinking."

She literally jumps up, off the couch, the laptop falling with a thud to the floor, the power plug pulling from it.

She looks up and she isn't quite sure what it is she's seeing.

A giant, black mass it seems, standing there in her living room, unmoving. All she can make out are white slits where she thinks the eyes should be.

She's going to scream, she can feel it, ready to tear from her throat.

"Don't be frightened." The mass says, and its voice is a dark rasp, heavy and intimidating.

"Oh God…" She whimpers. "W-what are you?"

It seems to lift a hand, but she can't really make it out in the dark, some kind of… of winged spread folding out behind it.

"I'm Batman." It says in the same, dark voice.

Batman?

Her eyes are focusing hard, like she's trying to discern some impossible formula, and for the first time she notices the window behind the mass is open, the wind blowing in just lightly.

"B-Batman…" She questions.

She's heard of him. She'd first heard of him 15 years ago, when she was still living in Gotham, but she'd put it up to folklore then, nothing but a rumor, no doubt started by the cops in a desperate attempt to curb the escalating crime rate of their city.

In the years since then, however, those rumors had proven true, as the vigilante had, a number of times, been caught on film, though the shots were never clear, the footage always grainy and out of focus.

He was real alright. But that wasn't helping her wrap her mind around the fact he was now standing in the middle of her apartment, offering a hand forward in, what, a sign of good intentions?

"Don't be frightened." The mass repeated. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"L-like hell you aren't!" She says, her voice pitching higher. "W-what do you want? What are you doing in my home?"

Suddenly he stepped forward, and on instinct, she pressed herself back, flat against the cushions of the couch. The only light in the room is coming from a desktop lamp, which she'd turned on when coming in. The mass moves in to the weak beam it casts, allowing it to illuminate him as best it can.

He stops and her eyes scan over his massive frame.

She's never seen anything like him before.

He's huge and powerful looking, more like a machine then a human being, tall and muscular. He looks like he could crush any man, not just with his size, but from the way he holds himself, straight, like a piston. And the way he moves, with unreal fluidity, like a cat, fast and perfectly balanced.

He's positively incredible, beautiful even, she thinks. But her fear of him quickly dashes the notion. If he wanted to hurt her, she realizes, there's nothing she could do about it.

She can tell just to look at him that he moves with lightening speed. He would be on her before she could even think to run.

"I want to talk to you." He says, and now that she can make out the lower half of his face, she isn't quite paralyzed with terror. Maybe he is human after all.

"N-not you too." She manages.

What the hell was it with this fucking city?

"The police were here earlier, asking you questions."

"How do you know that?" She asks, unable to hide the slight waver in her voice.

"I have my ways." He answers.

"Well, that's vague." She responds, daring to sit forward some.

"They wanted to know about your encounter with the Joker."

She sighs heavily, rolling her eyes in clear exasperation.

"Does _everyone_ in this city know about that? It's something I'd rather forget, you know?"

"Really?" The mass asks her. "Is that why you were looking up pictures of him on that computer of yours?"

Her eyes dart down to the fallen laptop. The screen is blank.

"H-how do you know what I was looking at?"

He only stares at her this time.

She throws her hands up.

"I know, I know. You have your _ways_." She spits disdainfully. "So what does it matter? I have a run in with the countries most notorious homicidal maniac and I'm not allowed to be a little curious afterwards? I'm a journalist, after all. And I already told those cops everything I know."

"Maybe." Batman says. "But you didn't tell them everything you were thinking."

She stares at him incredulously, her fear momentarily taking a back seat to her agitation.

"Listen…" She begins. "I've had about all I can take. The first night I get here and I'm nearly killed by a guy that looks like a clown, then I'm accosted by the police, and now a God damn urban legend busts in to my apartment, at _three_ in the morning, for what reason I can't possibly fathom. Tell me what you _want_ or I'm calling the police!"

"Most people who encounter the Joker, if they're lucky enough to make it out alive, they'd rather forget it ever happened. But here you are, looking up pictures of him."

"I'm not in _cahoots_ with him, if that's what you think!"

Batman shook his head.

"No. I know you're not."

"Then what _is _this? Why are you here?"

"You mentioned to the police about your husband, Jack Napier."

She could feel her hands tighten, forming in to fists at the mention of her husbands name.

"What? Are you going to accuse him of being involved with that madman like that bastard of a detective did?"

Batman shook his head again, and suddenly he looked up from her, to the shelving containing the framed pictures. Without a word, he moved towards it, and all she could do was watch as he bent to examine the photos more closely. Reaching out, he took one of them up, bringing it to his face.

"Is this him?" He asked, turning back to her and handing over the frame.

She reached out with some hesitation, and he could see her hands trembling, if only vaguely.

She stared down at the picture, silent a long moment.

And then she nodded.

"Yes. That's him. That's my husband."

The picture was of a young man, likely in his early to mid 20s. He was looking at the camera, smiling, dressed in a tuxedo. His hair was a medium brown, slightly curled, more wavy, and cut short, framing his long, angular face. He was handsome, with a long, roman nose, straight, and sporting high and defined cheekbones, and a long mouth, though his smile was tight, reserved. Almost embarrassed looking. From the picture alone, one would guess he was a shy man, uncomfortable in social situations. But his eyes, they were large, colored a light, but somehow vibrant green, and in them there was warmth, there was kindness. He looked like a good man.

But still, Batman had noted the similarity to _his_ face. It couldn't be denied, the striking resemblance.

"This was taken on our wedding day." She said, still staring at the photograph. "We were so young. I was 25, and he'd just turned 22." She laughed a little, the sound almost like the tinkling of bells. "That was one of the happiest days of both our lives."

Batman regarded her, seeing the sadness in her eyes.

"Tell me about him." He said.

She looked up.

"Jack?" She asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

He gave a nod.

Her eyes fell back to the picture, and without even being aware, she began to run her fingers over the image of her husbands face, tracing the lines of it.

"He was the sweetest man I've ever known." She said quietly. "The best man."

She looked up abruptly.

"He was so kind. And so funny." A smile had spread across her lips at the memory of him. "He would always make me laugh. He always knew just the right things to do… to say."

"_And _now_, I present to _you_, in all your magnificent and angelic splendor…" He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she giggled like a school girl, covering her mouth with her hand. _

"_Don't interrupt, don't interrupt!" He playfully admonished. _

"_Okay, okay, I'm sorry." She waved a hand, trying to stifle her laughter. "You were saying?"_

_He cleared his throat, starting over._

"_I present to you, that greatest of debutants, that most esteemed of playactors, the most _thrilling_ and _astounding_ and _enthralling_ man you've ever and _shall _ever lay eyes upon!"_

_He bent low, close to her face._

"_Am I getting through to you sweetheart?" He smiled a lopsided grin. _

_She couldn't help the giggles which had started to bubble up from her throat again as she nodded, again covering her mouth._

_He straightened suddenly, sweeping one arm out and folding the other across his stomach as he took a dramatic bow._

_For a moment he just stayed like that, not moving, his hair tumbling forward._

_She continued to laugh._

_And all at once, he looked up at her, grinning wide._

"_The _great_, the _magnificent_, the _incomparable_… Devine… Lady… _Bell_." _

_Suddenly he grabbed at two invisible points on either side of his narrow hips, his pinkies out, and he began to bend at the knees, folding his long body in to a curtsy. _

"_Well, I _do_ declare!" He began, standing straight again, his voice pitching high in an absurdly accurate imitation of a girl's, and taking on a Southern drawl. "If you aren't just the most _darlin_'__ thing I ever have seen!" He reached out, gently pinching her left cheek. "Where'd you say you were from, suga?" _

_She giggled almost uncontrollably. _

"_I-I didn't." She managed. _

_He gasped dramatically, placing a hand against his chest in exaggerated embarrassment. _

"_You _didn't_? Well, please, _do_ forgive my error. It's just, well, it's rare you see a flower as pretty as yourself round these here parts, and I believe I might have momentarily lost myself in your dazzlin' beauty is all!"_

"_J-Jack…" She laughed, nearly rolling on the couch. _

"_Jack? Oh, no honey, the names the _Devine Lady Bell_. Haven't you heard? Only the greatest, most celebrated transvestite in _all _of South Georgia! Why, my names libel to be heard from here, allll the way cross this great nation a' ours, to them California mountain tops!"_

_She could barely breathe now, she was laughing so hard. _

"_Jack… s-stop…" She gasped, her arms wrapped around her stomach as she doubled over in hysterics. "Your k-killing me!"_

"_Oh my goodness. I would never _dream_ of such a thing darlin'! Why, I'd never hurt a hair on that pretty little head a' yours! I'm as gentle as a sweet, summer breeze. You know the kind. The kind that's _just_ right, the kind that hits your face at that perfect moment, when you think the heats just _too___much to bear! And God, in all her infinite kindness, just sends that cool air on down, right to you, like a kiss from heaven."_

_She'd curled in to a ball on the couch at that point, her laughter so intense it had turned in to nothing more then a silent hiss, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. _

_He'd looked at her with his own amusement, and a moment later, he hadn't been able to help it as he too started laughing. _

"_J-Jack, you're… you're unreal!" She barely got out, and he bent down suddenly, scooping her in to his arms and lifting her up in to the air, twirling her around, smiling up at her face. _

_She let out a little yelp, the sound sliding in to more laughter as he spun her in a circle, around and around._

_Suddenly he collapsed down, on to the couch, bringing her down on top of him and folding his arms around her shaking torso. He nestled his face against her neck, pressing his lips down and blowing a raspberry. _

_She practically screamed, kicking out._

"_Stop it Jack! S-stop it!" _

_He laughed with her, doing it again, and she struggled to break free, too weak from her own mirth to get anywhere. _

_Finally, after several minutes of their shared giggles, they began to settle down, both breathing hard._

_Jeannie motioned to turn around, and he unwrapped his arms, letting her._

_She sat in his lap, her legs curled under her, staring down at him, and he looked up at her._

_She placed a gentle hand along his cheek, cupping it, her other hand finding its way in to his hair, running her fingers softly through it, massaging his scalp. _

_A sigh escaped his lips as he continued to gaze at her, adoration in his eyes._

"_I love you Jack." She said, and an unsure smile spread across his lips._

"_I love you." He replied, his voice almost a whisper. _

_She didn't wait then, bending down, pressing her mouth firmly against his own, kissing him hard. _

_He kissed her back, his arms wrapping round her waist._

_And he could have sworn; this must be what heaven was._

"He used to do that all the time. He had these _characters_ he would make up, these different people who he'd pretend to be. He was so theatrical. I always used to tell him he could be a professional actor or something."

Batman looked back at her, nodding, remaining quiet.

A gloom seemed suddenly to come over her face, and she cast her eyes away.

"But he was only really like that around me, when we were alone." She said. "Around other people…" She shook her head. "He had trouble. It was hard for him. I told him so many times he should just be himself, not to worry what anyone thought. And he tried. I _know_ he tried. But…" She went silent. "It was like he was scared. Afraid they'd reject him no matter what." She stared down again at the picture in her hands. "And really, he had good reason to be. People…" She sighed. "For the most part, people were mean to Jack."

"_Baby, calm down." She said, holding tight to his arm. "It'll be okay. It's just some of my girlfriends and their husbands. Everyone here's friendly, I promise you."_

_He didn't look at all convinced, his entire frame rigid as they stood outside the doors to the restaurant, he staring straight ahead, his expression flat, save for the slight furrowing of his brow. _

_She stood up on her tip toes to reach his ear, whispering, "I'm right here Jack. Okay? I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere." _

_He swallowed hard, nodding stiffly. _

_She stared up at him._

"_Jack…" _

_He kept his eyes trained ahead._

"_Jack, look at me baby." _

_Finally he did, staring down at her, and she saw apprehension in his eyes._

"_I'm right here." She repeated, giving his arm a squeeze. "And everyone here's nice. You know Cindy and Patricia. You've met them before, at the wedding. Remember?" _

"_But not their husbands." He said, his voice hushed. _

"_Oh, Steve and Jerry are nice guys. Real easy going and cool. Come on Jack, you're worrying yourself for no reason. Nothings going to happen, I swear."_

"_That's what you said last time." He answered, looking at the doors again. Looking at them like they led in to some black, horrifying abyss. _

"_Last time was different. We didn't know any of those people Jack. We were dragged in to it because Linda wanted me to meet that publisher friend of hers. The guys there were assholes. I promise you, Steve and Jerry aren't like that." _

"_I don't know why you have to hang out with any of these people still." Jack said. "It's weird, keeping contact with college buddies two years after you've graduated." _

_Jeannie sighed._

"_It's not _that _weird Jack." She said. "Now come _on_. We're gonna be late."_

_She tugged on his arm, practically having to force him up the three steps leading to the doors._

_Once inside, they were met by an overly effusive greeter , and Jack could already feel his discomfort skyrocket. _

_Why couldn't he and Jeannie just stay together? Why did she insist on dragging him out on these ridiculous social gatherings? _

"_Hi." Jeannie said. "We're supposed to meet someone. It should be under O'Neil." _

"_Of course! Right this way." The girl said, moving past and ahead of them, leading them to the correct table._

_Jeannie held tight to her husband, dragging him behind her._

"_Hey! Look who finally decided to show!" Cindy shouted, standing from the table and heading straight for them._

_The greeter excused herself as Cindy wrapped Jeannie in a tight hug, and Jack stood back, his eyes trained on the ground, his arms crossing self-consciously over his chest. _

"_Hi guys." Jeannie said. "I'm sorry we're late."_

"_No trouble!" Patricia offered, also standing and hugging Jeannie. "We're just glad you made it. For a while there it seemed like you might not." _

_Jeannie laughed and Jack dared to glance up at her before quickly averting his gaze back down. _

"_No, no. We were always gonna come."_

"_Well, now that everyone's _here_, we'll give you two a chance to look over the menus and then we can order!"_

"_Sound's great!" Jeannie replied. _

"_Hi Jack." Cindy said, looking up at the tall, thin man. _

_He looked up at her with his eyes, his head still bowed, and smiled. _

"_Hi." He said quietly before once more lowering his stare._

_Cindy's lip curled slightly as she glanced over at Patricia, who gave her a look of 'I don't know. Don't ask me.'. _

_The two women went to sit back down then, Jeannie taking hold of Jack's arm and following behind, filling the remaining empty chairs. _

"_Jack, this is Steve, Cindy's husband. And that's Jerry, Patricia's husband." Jeannie said, trying to break the ice. "Guys, this is Jack, my husband."_

_He glanced at the two men, nodding just barely in acknowledgement before fixing his eyes on the table cloth. _

"_Hello." He said._

_He was doing this for her, he reminded himself. _

'_Try not to embarrass her. Don't do anything weird.' _

_He could feel the men's eyes on him and he wished right then and there he could just disappear in to his seat._

_He looked up, working hard to maintain eye contact._

_He didn't know why he had so much difficulty holding other people's gaze. _

_He smiled._

_He could see the disgust flash in their eyes and quickly he looked away. _

_Jeannie could never see what he did. See the way people thought of him._

_Everyone adored her. How could they not? She was gorgeous, first off, and secondly, she had the most wonderful disposition. She just knew how to talk to people, how to make them comfortable. _

_Not like him. _

_People saw him as bizarre, as strange… That tended to put them off._

_After a few minutes of scanning over the menus, a waitress came by, pen and pad in hand, and everyone made their orders. _

_The place looked fancy to Jack and he knew he'd never be able to afford it. Not with the menial wages he was making. The thought embarrassed him, and he'd tried finding the cheapest thing to order. But nothing in the place was less then $15.00, and so he'd just gone with the water they'd poured complimentary. _

"_Aren't you hungry?" Jeannie had looked at him with surprise when he told the waitress he was fine._

"_I'm alright." He said to her in a whisper, hoping no one would hear._

_But they had._

"_You should order something… what'd you say your name was again?" Jerry said suddenly, staring straight at him._

_He glanced up at the man._

"_Jack." He said softly._

"_Jack. Yeah. You should order something. You're looking a little on the skinny side." _

"_Jerry!" Patricia slapped him lightly on the arm. _

"What_?" Jerry said. "I'm just being honest." He looked back to Jack. "Say, Jack, you don't got one of them _eatin_' disorders, do you? You know, the kind that, like, 13 year old _girls_ usually get."_

_Jack closed his eyes._

_Christ, here it went. _

"_No." He responded after a moment. "I'm just not hungry is all."_

"_Not hungry, huh?" Jerry rubbed his chin. _

"_No." Jack said. "Not hungry." He was focusing hard on his glass of water._

"_You buy that Steve?" Jerry nudged the other man in the shoulder. _

_Steve shrugged. _

"_Alright!" Cindy cut in, desperate to change subjects. "So, Jeannie, how's life been treating you?" _

_She was looking at Jack, clear concern in her eyes as her husband kept his trained on the table. _

"_Hmm, what?" She said after a moment, registering that someone had asked her a question._

"_Life Jeannie." Cindy repeated. "How's it been? You know, since you got married?"_

_Jeannie stared at her blankly. It didn't escape her notice how Cindy addressed only her, leaving Jack out of the question entirely._

_She frowned vaguely, turning towards Jack and putting her hand on his arm. She could feel his tension._

"_Jack and I have been very happy." She said, more to him then the woman in front of her. He glanced at her, smiling slightly, and she smiled back._

_But she was intensely uncomfortable now. She hadn't expected Steve and Jerry to act like such douche bags. They'd always been great to her. _

_But Jack had been right. _

_She just wanted to leave with him now, but that might ruin things between her and her friends. _

_Silence consumed the table for the next, few minutes, and there was a definite relief when the food suddenly arrived. _

_The silence resumed, but at least everyone had their food to focus on now. _

_Everyone but Jack. _

_But the peace wouldn't last long, as Steve suddenly looked up, smirking._

"_So, Jack…" He began. _

_Jeannie shot him a glare, but he just ignored her, keeping his eyes on the man to her right._

"_What is it you do exactly?"_

_Jack flicked his eyes up momentarily before looking back down, beginning to pick at the table cloth._

"_I, uh, I work a couple jobs." He said._

"_Sorry, what was that?" Steve said, purposefully making his voice loud. _

"_I work a couple jobs." Jack repeated, barely louder then the first time, knowing Steve was just being a jerk, pretending not to hear him._

"_Yeah? And what's those?"_

_Again Jack glanced at him. _

"_It… it's just temporary, until I can find something better." He began, already feeling his face flush with embarrassment. _

"_Well go on, you can tell us." Steve pressed. "Me? I'm Mr. Lexington's _personal___chauffer. You know, guy who owns practically the city's whole fish market?"_

_Jack swallowed, giving a nod._

"_Yeah." He said quietly. _

"_Yeah. Pays real good too. Don't it toots?" He looked at Cindy and she giggled._

_He looked back at Jack._

"_And Jerry here? He's workin' as Mr. Lexington's _personal assistant_. And that pays about the same. So what's it you do? How're you providin' for your woman there?" _

_He hesitated, his fingers gripping more tightly to the table cloths coarse material. _

_He could see Jeannie watching him from the corner of his eye, and feel the eyes of the rest of the table, boring in to him. _

_Suddenly he felt Jeannie's hand on his arm again, squeezing down, and she leaned in close, whispering in to his ear. _

"_It's okay. You can tell them. It doesn't matter what they think." _

_He nodded stiffly at this._

_God, he was doing it again, he was embarrassing her with his awkwardness. _

"_I… I work down at the docks right now." He said. "…Loading crates. And then I work another job, at night, cleaning up after hours at J-Joe's Deli."_

_Steve and Jerry just stared at him for several seconds, as Cindy and Patricia gazed away, looking uncomfortable. _

_And then, there it was._

_The two men busted out laughing, slapping the table, rattling the silverware. _

_Jack's whole body tensed, his hands curling in to fists as he brought them to his lap and stared down._

"_Y-you're kiddin', right?" Steve barely managed. "I mean, you gotta be! N-no one could afford to live in this city workin' crummy jobs like that, not unless they was livin' in the Narrows!" _

_Jack wanted nothing more in that moment then to just vanish from the face of the earth. _

_He heard sharp whispering, Cindy telling him to shut up, and then telling him that was _exactly___where they lived. _

_Why couldn't he just die, then and there?_

_It would be less painful then this, he was sure._

"_Oh, shit! You _do_ live in the Narrows?" Steve said. "Haha, my bad dude. Listen, no wonder you ain't ordered no food. You can't afford this place, can you?" _

_Jack said nothing, his hands curling tighter and tighter in his lap._

_God, he felt so _humiliated_. _

"_Listen buddy, you gotta do better then that. I mean, damn, look at your girl dude! She's fuckin' _hot_. No offense Jeanette." He looked at her briefly, ignoring the absolute repulsion on her face. "And you're workin' some dead end jobs like that? That's the sign of a loser, Jacky-boy. I'm surprised you can provide for her at all, really. It's confusin', why a babe like that would go with a bean pole like you, unless you was rollin' in doe or whatever." _

_Jack looked up finally, clear anger in his eyes._

_Jeannie's hand wrapped tighter around his arm. _

"_Don't…" He said. "Don't talk about her like that." _

"_What?" Steve said. "Your girl? I'm just complimentin' her."_

"_D-don't talk about her at _all_." Jack went on as if he hadn't heard the man, his voice shaking. _

_Steve smirked. _

"_Or what? You gonna beat me up, _big man_?"_

_Jack's whole body was trembling with rage now and abruptly he stood._

"_Jack!" Jeannie said, still holding to him. _

"_Just _don't_." He said, looking down at the other man. _

_Suddenly, both Steve and Jerry stood, staring back at him._

"_You want some, _freak_?" Jerry said. "Cause we can take this outside, right now!" _

_Jeannie looked to Cindy and Patricia, pleading with her eyes to make their husbands stop._

"_What?" Cindy said, as though offended. "Listen, Jeanette, it's not our fault your husbands such a weirdo. He's just askin' for it's all." _

_Jeannie's mouth practically fell open then, glancing at Patricia, who only shrugged at her, a clear sign she'd sided with Cindy. _

_Jack was shaking visibly now, and Jeannie knew if she didn't drag him out of there, he was going to get in to a fight and get hurt again, like last time. _

"_You know what?" She said, standing, still holding to her husbands arm. "_Fuck_ you! Fuck _all_ of you. Jack, let's go baby."_

_She pulled on him, imploring him to follow. _

"_N-not until they apologize t-to you." He said, standing stiffly, refusing to budge. _

"_We ain't apologizin' for _shit_, freak-show." Steve said, leaning forward. "Now you best listen to your lady there, before you get _hurt_."_

"_Jack, come _on_." Jeannie pleaded, again pulling on his arm. "They're not worth it."_

"_I _want _them to apologize." He said, slamming his fist down on the table, staring straight at them now. _

"_Well we ain't gonna do that Jacky-boy." Jerry said, a smug grin across his face._

"_Jack, _please_. Y-you're upsetting me." Jeannie begged now. "I just wanna go home."_

_This caught his attention, and he looked down at her finally. _

"_But they… t-they spoke of you in… in a _derogatory_ manner Jeannie!"_

_Both Steve and Jerry laughed loudly. _

"_G-get a load a' this guy!" Jerry said. "T-they spoke of you in a d-derogatory manner Jeannie…!" He imitated, putting on a stupid voice. "W-who the hell _talks___like that?"_

"_Bozzo freaks, that's who." Steve answered._

"_I don't _care _Jack." Jeannie cried, pulling on him again. "_Please_, let's just go. _Please_!"_

_She was terrified now, afraid that he was going to go at them, throw himself in to a fight he couldn't win, like he always did. She didn't want to see him get beaten up again. She didn't think she could take it._

_He stared at her, a look of confusion on his face._

"Please _Jack!" She again cried._

_He could see now how upset she was, see she was afraid. And when she next tugged on his arm, he allowed himself to be moved, stumbling behind as she pulled him away._

"_Yeah, you better run!" He heard Jerry call out from behind. "Go back to your fuckin' shit hole in the Narrows! Dumb ass pussy!" _

_Jeannie just kept pushing forward, her grip as tight as she could make it around Jack's arm, refusing to let him go, refusing to let him stop. _

_When they finally had made it outside, Jack stopped her._

"_Jeannie, you… you should have let me fight them. I could have handled them!"_

_When she turned to face him, there were tears streaming from her eyes, her brow furrowed in distress._

"_Jesus Jack, don't you _see_?" She cried. "No you _couldn't_. They're _bigger_ then you sweetheart. And there's the _two _of them."_

_She turned suddenly._

"_I can't stand to see you get hurt anymore! I can't take it Jack!" _

"_I… I could have handled them Jeannie." He repeated. "If you'd have just let me. I… I didn't like the way they were talking about you." _

_She shook her head._

_He didn't understand. _

_He didn't understand how worried she got for him, or why. He couldn't see._

"_Lets… let's just go home Jack." She said. "I'm tired. I want to go home." _

"_But…"_

"_I want to go home Jack!" She said, turning, her voice rising, and he jumped slightly at her sudden outburst._

_It only made her want to cry more._

_She sighed, reaching out and taking his hand._

"_Come on." She said, more softly. "We can catch the subway if we hurry."_

_She began walking forward, still holding his hand, and he obeyed, letting himself be dragged behind._


	6. Chapter 6

**As always, thanks goes out to TheMadCapLaughs for being my beta on this story and for helping me to write this chapter! You're the best girl!**

**Chapter 6:**

She shook her head, looking up at the vigilante.

"It was just so hard for him, you know? Jack was a genius. A _real_ one. His IQ was out of sight. Something insane, like 190, 195. They'd given him a bunch of different tests when he was seven or eight years old, before we met, and that's how he'd gotten the scholarship to Cherry Heights Middle School and later High School; why he was four grades ahead. Really, he could have been taking college level courses by the time he was ten or eleven, but…" Again she shook her head. "His Dad wasn't about to let him do that. I remember him telling me his Dad didn't even like him going in to the suburbs for school, that he wanted him close all the time. The teachers at his previous school insisted he go, saying they weren't really equipped to deal with a kid like him. Everything was paid for, of course. But… he just didn't fit in anywhere. He was super shy. Socially awkward. He just had trouble relating to other people because his mind was operating on some separate level."

Batman regarded her carefully, giving a vague nod every now and then.

"Of course, people didn't realize that, didn't understand. They just thought there was something wrong with him, that he was just the _weird _kid, you know? Most people…" She laughed, though the sound was one of bitterness, of resentment. "Most people thought he was mentally _retarded_. That he was simple because he would never look you in the eye, never talk. And he had trouble with picking up on people's intentions, or their moods. Unless you told him _specifically _what you meant, he would have difficulty understanding. He was… kind of out of touch with emotions in that way. Not that he was _without _emotion. Jack…" She looked down. "Jack was extremely sensitive, actually. Easily upset. But he had trouble _reading_ people. I guess that's what I'm trying to say. He had a very mathematical, very scientific brain. Subtle shifts in mood or expression, the vibes people gave off, stuff that for any normal person would be pretty easy to pick up, it just wasn't _there_ for him."

"It sounds like he might have been autistic." Batman said.

Jeannie looked up at him, blinking, a slow spreading realization coming across her features.

"I… never really thought of that…"

"Many autistics suffer the kind of social difficulties you just described," Batman continued. "Some are academically brilliant, too."

Jeannie was staring again at the photo of Jack, her thumb again running over the image.

"No one ever said _anything_ about that."

"Autism wasn't widely recognized in the Seventies and Eighties. Lots of autistic children went undiagnosed during that time and before. Your husband probably belonged in a school for gifted children, a place where he wouldn't have been targeted and bullied."

Jeannie brought her hand to her mouth, trying to calm herself. She felt tears stinging at the back of her eyes.

God, she'd never _thought_ of that. She'd never really considered Jack could be suffering from some kind of condition. If she'd have known, she would have…

"Did Jack go to college with you, Ms. Reinking?"

Regaining focus, she shook her head.

"N-no," she said. "But I _wanted _him to. I told him, with his brains, he could have gotten in to any college in the country. He didn't have any money, really. His Dad was a brick layer and as far as I knew, unsupportive. But he would have easily been offered full scholarships if he'd just applied. The finest universities in the US – hell, the _world_ - would have been literally queuing up around the block to have him. He was a brilliant chemist. Astounding."

"A _chemist_?" Batman cut her short, looking hard at her.

She nodded. "We used to sit together in our science classes. I'd watch him do stuff. Stuff that was _way_ beyond the teacher's scope of knowledge … beyond most _college _professors too, I'll bet. He'd write out these immensely complex and sophisticated equations and formulas, and he'd try to explain to me what he was doing, but I didn't have a clue what he was talking about. He'd mix all these chemicals together, and as he was doing this, he would tell me exactly how the chemicals were going to react with each other. What the results would be. He always used to get in so much trouble for it, though."

"Trouble?"

"Yeah. But it wasn't intentional. Not what you'd think. The teacher would send him off to the Principal's office for working on something other than the assigned task, or for interrupting the teacher to tell them they were wrong." Jeannie laughed at the memory. "He wouldn't even raise his hand. The first few times it happened, the teachers tried arguing with him, but he always ended up making them look like total idiots, like they didn't have a clue what they were talking about. And really, compared to him, they didn't. So eventually they just started sending him away." She shrugged. "I wanted him to go to college and… he could have, had he really wanted. But he didn't. He was afraid, I think. The idea of being in such an intensely social environment, of having to interact with others, strangers … I think it really scared him. And I… I couldn't really blame him, given how cruel people had been to him in school."

Batman glanced back at the photographs lining the shelf.

There was little doubt in his mind now.

The Joker was probably the most brilliant chemist he'd ever seen. The lunatic's grasp of chemical and genetic engineering was immeasurable in its keenness, in its depth.

Though he was loath to admit it, Batman had always found that aspect of the Joker tragic. Here was this incomparably brilliant man; one of boundless potential. Someone who could have been one of mankind's greatest assets, if not for the fact that his mind was plagued by sickness; by _madness_.

Only one thing was holding him back from being convinced.

It seemed almost impossible for this man - as described by his wife - to have developed into the Joker. The clown was gifted with a kind of ultra-sensory perception; the ability to read people with greater accuracy than almost anyone else in the world. He was able to home in on an individual's deepest, darkest thoughts, traits and personal demons merely by _speaking _with them for a few minutes. Sometimes just from _observing_ them.

Jack Napier – according to his wife – completely lacked this ability. Or at least she _thought_ he did. The Joker was a sociopath; high-functioning, hugely skilled and unquestionably charming, as sociopaths often were. If he'd always been such, the possibility remained that he'd been fooling his wife all along; letting her believe one thing about him when the exact opposite was true.

What was more likely, however - given Jeanette Reinking's obvious closeness with the man who'd been her husband - was that this ability had always lain dormant in Jack. If Jack was indeed the Joker, his submergence in that vat of chemical waste might have triggered it somehow.

He hoped, for this woman's sake, the latter was true.

"You loved your husband very much," he said, quietly.

She nodded, again holding her hand over her mouth. "I did. I loved him more then anyone. The only… the only person I've ever loved equally is our son."

Batman gave a nod, casting his eyes away.

"What if I told you your husband was still alive?"

Jeannie emitted a small, bitter half-laugh, half-sob, and wiped a tear from her eye.

"… I don't know." She said. "I don't know what I'd say. I'd probably think you were crazy."

"You were looking at pictures of the Joker earlier," he stated, looking back at her. He didn't want to upset her, but he was sure she'd herself considered the possibility.

"Back to _this_ again?" she asked. "What has that got to do with anything?"

"You tell me."

Jeannie glared at him, her mouth hung slightly open.

"Tell you _what_?" she huffed, losing patience. "What do you want from me?"

"You see the similarity," Batman pressed. "I know you do. Between your husband and the Joker."

Jeannie scoffed and turned away. "That's … ridiculous. I have no idea what you're talking about. There isn't any similarity at all. _None_."

"Ms. Reinking…" Batman went on. "Are you aware that the Joker is highly renowned … highly _regarded_ for his genius in the fields of chemical and genetic engineering?"

She looked back at him, and he could see the anxiety pass over her features.

"Coincidence," she said flatly, waving a dismissive hand.

"Is it a coincidence how much they look alike?" Batman pressed.

"They look _nothing_ alike," she said, sounding distinctly ill at ease.

Batman pulled a device from his belt. It resembled an I-Pad, only considerably more advanced. He pushed a button at the base. Picking up a photograph of Jack from the shelf, he ran it over the device then touched his gauntleted finger to the screen. There was a soft chime.

"Look," he said, handing the device to Jeannie.

And she looked.

The thing had somehow scanned the photo of Jack. Right beside it, there was a picture of the Joker, with grafts pinpointing the likeness of their features. Below, it read _"Facial configuration match: 98%." _

She swallowed, and her hands began to tremble.

She didn't need a damn machine to see how much they looked alike. The Joker's face _was _Jack's, only… only without any of the kindness or warmth.

Batman cleared his throat. "I know this is difficult Ms. Reinking," he said. "And there's a possibility I'm wrong. But the possibility is very _slim_."

She shook her head.

The vigilante continued. "If the match had been less than 95%, there would have been a chance that your husband and the Joker were not the same man. But almost every single match over 95% has turned out – without fail – to be the person I'm looking for. The 2% difference almost certainly accounts for the change in skin tone, hair and lip color, maybe a scar or two, but nothing more. I'm sorry."

"Are … are there variables?" Jeannie asked, dreading the answer.

"There's _potential_ for variables, such as in the case of identical twins, but even twins rarely produce a higher match than 94%. Shapeshifters and the like generally score higher, but the Joker is not a metahuman, so this factor doesn't apply. I know it sounds like a bad TV cliché, Ms. Reinking, but did your husband have a twin brother?"

"No, he didn't. He was an only child… Oh Christ, how can this _be_?" she cried.

"You said your husband disappeared fourteen years ago. That no body was ever found and he was declared dead?"

She nodded weakly.

"The Joker first appeared nearly fourteen years ago."

"Oh God…" She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. "It can't be. It _can't_. The Joker's… the Joker's a killer!" she cried. "A psychopathic killer! Jack… Jack wasn't that. He wasn't _like_ that. Are you _sure_ your device is accurate? Please say it sometimes gets it wrong. _Please_."

Batman remained static, watching her.

"The only thing we know about the Joker, Ms. Reinking, is that he was severely deformed - physically and most likely mentally - from prolonged exposure to very toxic, very permeating chemicals. I say mentally because it's highly possible - if your husband is indeed the Joker - that his mind became twisted from the exposure. It more than likely rendered him unrecognizable in his behavior and demeanor; even in the way he _thinks_."

Again she shook her head.

"Please stop it!" she said. "I can't… I can't take this. I can't…"

"I know this is hard," Batman said.

"No!" She looked up, glaring at him. "You _don't _know. You have no idea! If you'd known Jack, you would understand why this isn't possible. It just _isn't_. He… he was a _beautiful_ man. He was so _good_. This just… it can't be. It just _can't_."

Batman's eyes slid away.

He really hated this sometimes.

"There's a way to confirm it, one way or the other." He said, looking back to her. "Do you have any audio of your husband; any sound clips?"

She looked at him with wide eyes, her face now wet with tears, and swallowed.

"I… I have a home video we took… the day after our wedding." .

Batman nodded.

"I can do a voice analysis." He said. "Compare your husband's voice with the Joker's. A person's voice is like a fingerprint. It's unique to each individual. If they're the same person, the match will be positive."

"And… and if they're not?"

"Then the match will be negative."

Jeannie wanted to scream. She didn't like how cold Batman was, how detached and scientific he was about all of this.

"Ms. Reinking?"

She looked back to him.

"The Joker is currently loose. He's out there on the streets. I can't begin to explain to you how _dangerous_ he is.

I thought I had him a few days ago, when he attacked a bowling alley. But he was ready for me; he slipped away. He killed _four people_, Ms. Reinking. He injured eight others, some of whom remain critical. I _have_ to find him."

Jeannie's heart beat so hard in her chest, she was positive she was about to have a panic attack. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.

"W-what am I supposed t-to do about it?" she managed to stammer, after a pause.

"Nothing." Batman said. "You've encountered him recently. If he is who I think he is - if he's your husband - there's a very real possibility he'll remember you, and want to hurt you."

"If he was my husband he would _never_ hurt me," she said, determined. "In all the time we were together, he _never once_ raised a hand to me. _Ever._ Hardly raised his voice, even. And… and why _wouldn't_ he remember me, damn it? We knew each other since we were _children_!"

"The Joker's mind is fractured, Ms. Reinking," Batman replied calmly. "I believe he suffers from serious amnesia. But he has periods of lucidity; periods where he remembers things, flashes from his past, people and places. His coming face to face with you may well have triggered some of those memories, and I'm guessing he isn't going to be very happy about it."

"But… but why? Why wouldn't he be?"

Batman shook his head.

"For one, if what you say about your husband is true, it would confuse him. You have to understand: the Joker is a _seriously_ damagedindividual. He engages in life-threatening activities, routinely and without a _hint_ of hesitation. He's without _fear_, Ms. Reinking. This is what makes him so dangerous. He's somehow managed to free himself from the burden of compassion, and he prides himself on it. His apathy.

"But your husband, Jack, based on what you've told me … he was the opposite of that. Caring, loving and sensitive. If _any _of these emotions still exist in the Joker, then seeing you could easily conjure them up. But those feelings have been absent in him so long that I doubt very much he would understand what they were, even if they suddenly were thrust upon him. It's likely he would react with violence."

"What are you saying?" She asked, overwhelmed and frightened.

"I'm saying that until I catch him, it would be wise of you to stay home, and to keep your son home as well. The Joker has a way of finding people."

"This… this is absurd!" She said. "I just took over as the editor of the Gazette. I can't stay home! I have a job to do!"

"It's just until I catch him. You can work from home."

"Oh, _right._ And just _who,_ pray tell, is going to inform my boss about all of this?"

"Your boss has already been made aware of the situation. Not the full details, of course; that's too risky. But I've managed to utilize some connections. It's _arranged._ You'll be working from home as of tomorrow morning." He reached into his belt and handed her a disk. "This is your editing program. You'll need to download it to your PC. My people will keep lookout in the vicinity of this building during the day. You won't even notice they're there. And I'll be around at night. For your _protection_, Ms. Reinking."

Jeannie nodded solemnly. "And Rory?" she asked. "How am I supposed to explain any of this to him?"

"I'll leave that for _you_ to figure out, Ms. Reinking," Batman answered. "In the meantime, if you'd like to find out, you can give me that video of yours and I'll run analysis on it."

"You can't be serious!" Jeannie nearly yelled. "And what the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime? What if you _can't _catch him!"

"I will." Batman said.

"But what if you _can't_?"

"Eventually, he'll come to me. He'll expose himself."

"Why… why would he do that?"

"Because it's a _game_ to him. He… considers me his playmate."

Her expression was one of confusion, clearly not understanding.

"His _playmate?"_

He didn't expect she would.

He wasn't even sure if he understood himself.

"His main priority in life is to provoke me. He lives for the … the _battle_ between us, as he perceives it."

Jeannie bit her lip. "And what if he _does_ turn out to be Jack? What am I supposed to do then?"

"Again, that's up to you. But it's imperative you understand, rudimentarily at least, exactly who and what the Joker _is_ before you make any decision regarding him. You can't just walk in on him blind or with misconceptions. It's important you understand there's little, if _anything_, left of the man you once knew."

She stared at him wide eyed.

"And how am I supposed to do _that?_"

"I can help you." .

"You can _help _me?"

"I have access to things no one else has. Material you might find helpful."

"Such as?"

"Footage, interviews… It would be safer for you to watch them, before you attempt to make contact with him once he's back in Arkham."

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking down.

"What makes you think I'd want to go see him at all?"

"I'm not you," Batman stated. "But if he is your husband, then I imagine the desire to visit him would be strong, and I wouldn't recommend doing so until you know _exactly_ what you're dealing with. Because the biggest danger to you, Ms. Reinking, lies in listening to him _speak._ I take it you've heard of the Charlie Weintraub documentary, _Playing God?"_

"I heard it was banned. That the entire production crew was murdered shortly after the film was completed."

"It was banned because of the Joker. People _killed_ themselves after watching that film. But I have an uncut copy. _If_ you'd like to see it, of course."

She shook her head, continuing to keep her eyes away, biting her lip.

"I don't know…" She finally spoke. "I don't know what to do."

For a moment, the crusader said nothing, just watching her.

Finally he shifted, moving back towards the window.

"I'll be in touch," he said. "Let me know what you want to do."

And then he turned, and she watched as he disappeared, out in to the night.

/

**Reviews people! Reviews! Okay, I know that sounded desperate. But really guys, tell me what you're thinking, otherwise, it's hard to keep going, it really is. Hope you enjoyed it, and is so, tell me why, and if not, tell me why also! I love hearing from you! As always, thanks to everyone for taking the time to read!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Once more, huge thanks goes out to my beta TheMadCapLaughs for helping to make this chapter so much better. Credit goes to her for a large part of the interview sequences.**

**Chapter: 7**

It was twelve minutes past three in the morning, a muggy Friday, when he found the Joker, slid halfway under a trolley car, his long legs sticking out, lying flat, completely still. One might have thought he'd been run over, if not for the sound of metal on metal, of tinkering emanating from beneath the car.

He stood, waiting, knowing his presence had long since been discovered.

When he heard the low laughter begin to rise up, that's when he knew the madman was soon to acknowledge him.

A moment later, and he did.

"Hello there." He said, scooting forward until he was completely free of the car. He pushed himself to a sitting position, resting his elbows atop his knees, looking up at the vigilante with gleaming eyes, grinning like some mad child.

Batman glared back, standing at the ready.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice cold and emotionless, and the Joker's grin widened.

"Clang, clang, clang went the trolley Batman." He said, cocking his head to the side. "You ever see "Meet me in Saint Louis"? _Great_ movie. But real life trolley cars don't have Judy Garland to spice up the ride. So I thought I'd add my own kind of excitement, make the experience a little more _interesting_. Give people a little more _bang _for their buck."

He laughed lightly, his smile growing affectionate.

"Somehow though, I don't think you'll quite appreciate the effort."

He was right about that.

Batman stared back at him, repulsed as always by how flippantly the man regarded his own acts of atrocity, how he treated what he was doing as nothing more then a joke. But he stared also with a sense of confusion, and conflict over what he now knew.

It had been two nights after his initial visit when he'd gone back to see Ms. Reinking, and found her sitting on her couch, fingering an old VHS tape. She hadn't bothered looking up when he came through her window, too consumed in her own thoughts to even care at that point.

She'd told him the tape was the home movie of her and her husband, that she'd watched it for the first time in more then ten years.

He hadn't spoken, giving her time, giving her the space she needed.

And when finally she'd looked up at him, he could see the sheen in her eyes, the pain, and she'd told him she wanted him to take the video, to do the voice comparison test.

To find out if her husband was still alive.

And he was.

At least, physically.

Mentally, emotionally, it became something more complex.

Looking down on the Joker now, staring up at him and smiling in mockish sentiment, it was hard for him to believe he'd once been the man from that tape, the one he'd watched interacting with Ms. Reinking, treating her as though she were some sacred treasure, gentle and kind and careful, and himself, seeming as though he could be _no_ other way. He'd been quiet, and soft, and so sweet it made ones heart break just to see it. Because you _knew_, someone like that, someone so trusting, so _innocent_ of heart, they never could make it in this world. They'd never be _allowed_ to. Not in a place so brutal and cruel as this one.

He'd been like a butterfly, Bruce thought, beautiful and perfect in his fragility, but caught in a relentless and cruel hailstorm, a single stones hit away from being broken and crushed.

And he had been.

There could be no greater proof of that then the man sat before him, an absolute reflection of the cruelty from which he'd been born, the cruelty that _made_ him.

It didn't escape Bruce, the irony of it. Ms. Reinking had described her husband as the best man she'd ever known, and it was while watching him, the crusader came to understand _why_. There was a _goodness_ in Jack Napier, one which shone brightly in his eyes, sincere and true and unmistakable. It was the kind of goodness Bruce remembered seeing in the eyes of his parents. But in Jack, there'd also been pain, and fear, and crippling self-doubt. A man much like a child, hopeful as a child, believing, but who'd been beaten in to submission by the hatred of others.

Had he not been so good, so pure, and had he not thought because of this, other people must be the same, he never would have become what he did, he never would have grown to the embodiment of everything humanity most _feared_. It was his _faith_ in their virtue, a virtue which didn't exist in them, which caused him to become a monster, the very thing of their nightmares. They'd punished him for his innocence, and so created a horror beyond their imagination. Something immeasurable in its brutality, as apathetic and uncompromising as death itself, as cold and unkind.

When he'd come back to Ms. Reinking to inform her of what they both, deep down, had already known, she'd cried. Tears first of pain, of sadness and regret, and the crushing realization of how extremely she'd lost her husband, and then tears of hope, of the promise that, despite all this, maybe, maybe there was a chance she could again find him.

She'd asked for his help, to aide her in understanding what had become of Jack, what he'd turned in to, and to find out if there was anything left of the man she'd loved.

And he'd told her he would, that he'd come back to her with material to give her a clear picture of who the Joker was, _what_ he was and of what he was capable.

But he explained before then, before he would have the time, he had to find the Joker and return him to Arkham. That was the priority.

That had been two weeks ago, and he'd found the Joker purely by coincidence, having spotted him as he strolled in to the trolley yard, appearing as nothing more then a man about town.

The space around them was quiet, and dark, the only light really illuminating the place the light from the moon above.

He glared at the Joker, his frame rigid and still.

"I'm taking you back to Arkham." He said.

And the Joker laughed, pushing himself to his feet.

"Ring, ring, ring went the beeeeellll. Zing, zing, zing went my heart stringsssss, from the moment I saw _you_ I feeeeeeeeeeellll!" He sang out, before falling in to further hysterics.

Batman frowned.

He hated the Joker's voice.

He hated it because it was beautiful.

Like his handsome face, it belied the ugliness beneath.

And he saw both as tools of deceit.

It wasn't natural, it seemed, for someone so good looking, and with a voice so clear and pure, to be so horribly cruel, and filled with ill-intent.

Batman could only think of how the Joker would use his attractive qualities to entice people in, trap them and do with them what he then pleased.

Someone so vile shouldn't have been blessed with the gifts the Joker had, Bruce thought.

His voice and features, they didn't belong, they didn't make sense with who the Joker was.

But how much safer would the world be, if everything appeared as it _was_?

It seemed a while before the madman's mirth finally died away, and he straightened, looking hard at the vigilante.

"Well come along Batsy." He started, his voice quiet and sure. "The move is yours." He smiled, holding his hands wide in invitation.

A sign he was prepared for an attack? Or maybe it was just his usual fearlessness, and he wasn't prepared at all.

Batman had no idea.

He never knew with the Joker.

"Are you going to let me take you?"

And the Joker's grin broadened.

"No."

In a flash, Batman was on him, barrelling in to him, and the Joker's voice rose in laughter and he was pushed to the ground.

Whatever had be ailing him, whatever _depression _Harley had been speaking of, it seemed non-existent now as the lunatic's mirth grew.

A grunt escaped his lips as he impacted the ground, the sound sliding in to more laughter as Batman pinned him by the shoulders.

"Ohhh, _that's_ it darling." He giggled. "_Right_ there!"

The crusader's face twisted in disgust, his hands letting go as inadvertently he leaned back, off of the smaller man.

And the Joker rose up, flicking his wrist, a knife sliding from his sleeve in to his palm.

He fell forward, swiping the blade at Batman's face, and the vigilante fell back, the knife just barely nicking his jaw.

Anger exploded inside Bruce, any tolerance he might have had for the Joker's antics draining quickly from him, and he sprang at the madman, latching tight to his wrist and squeezing down, forcing the weapon from his hand.

The Joker choked out at the pain, dissolving fast in to more laughter as the vigilante laid his hand against his chest and pushed him back down.

The Joker reached up, giggling madly and wrapping his long, body fingers around the crusader's face, forcing his head back as he kicked his shin up, in to his groin.

But the blow had little impact, Batman's suit absorbing it, and he reached up, taking hold of the Joker's other wrist and prying his hand from his face, slamming it down above the maniac's head, now pinning both arms down.

The Joker stared up at him with focused eyes, the grin never leaving his face.

"… So…" He began, unable to move. "Are you gonna kiss me or what?"

Batman raged, jumping to his feet, still holding tight to the Joker's wrists, lifting him as he stood.

The lunatic swung wildly, chuckling as he kicked out at the crusader, trying to bury his foot against his stomach.

And Batman sneered in agitation, releasing one wrist, wanting suddenly to punish the madman.

But the Joker didn't hesitate to use his now free limb, reaching forward and latching to one of the ears on the vigilante's cowl, pulling at it roughly.

Batman growled, forming his hand to a fist, rearing it back and slamming it straight in to the Joker's solar plexus.

The Joker gasped loudly then, the air being ripped from his lungs as momentarily he fell limp. Batman took the opportunity to tear his hand from his head before ramming him to the ground, against his shoulder, rolling him on to his stomach and jerking both his arms behind his back.

The Joker choked out more laughter as the crusader shoved his boot down against the back of his neck, holding both his wrists together as he retrieved his handcuffs.

"All serious business tonight, are we dear?" The lunatic chuckled, his face being pressed in to the dirt. "I swear, you're just no fun when you're like this."

"Shut up." Batman said, giving the Joker's arms a painful tug in warning before slamming the manacles down over his skinny wrists.

But the Joker only laughed more.

"Really, you're making this more difficult then it needs to be." He continued happily. "You should allow yourself to _enjoy_ the moment, saver it a little. You're so afraid to admit the pleasure you derive from out little get togethers, so afraid of how people may _judge_ you for it. I promise, it would be _infinitely_ more satisfying if you'd only resign to the fact you actually _like_ this."

"I _said_…" Batman grabbed his shoulder once the cuffs had been secured, flipping him over on to his back. "Shut UP!"

And he laid his fist against the Joker's face, once, then twice, then a third time.

The Joker sputtered, spitting up blood as he choked on his own hysterics.

"_N-now_ we're having _fun_!" He exclaimed. "Co… come on Batsy. Hit me again! _Please_ hit me again! Oh, it hurts _so_ good when you do it to me!"

Batman's entire face twisted in repulsion, and he stood straight, reaching down and taking the Joker by the lapels of his jacket, lifting him up off the ground bodily.

The maniac giggled uncontrollably as the crusader hauled him over his shoulder, a wave of dizziness rushing through his head.

"Whewww, look at all the pretty _blood_!" He mused as it dripped steadily from his nose and mouth, on to the ground. "Did… did you know that blood is a kind of c-connective _tissue_ Batsy? S-strange, I know… but it gives you… gives you perhaps a better idea of why it's so devastating to the body when lost in large _quantities_."

Again he fell to more laughter, and Batman felt his teeth grind together, trying to block out the ceaseless diatribe.

It was a dangerous affair, listening to the Joker.

And he felt his anxiety rise as he thought of the long trip back to Arkham. Significant

/

One week later:

Jeannie sat on the sofa, fidgeting. On the table in front of her there was a tray containing a pot of coffee, one of tea, two cups, saucers, sugar, milk, and a sliced lemon. Batman should be there any time now. Rory had already disappeared, gone to the sleepover at his friend's house. She worries he's forgotten something – his toothbrush, a change of underwear, anything that might cause him to come back and catch Batman in the apartment. Now _that _would be a hard one to explain away. He's already sensed that something isn't quite right. That his mother is on edge. Twice today, she dropped something; a cup of tea, a dish of strawberries. He'd looked at her, curious and a little concerned, but didn't say anything. He's fourteen, after all. He can shrug things off.

The lamp went out. Of course it did_._ Batman cannot risk being seen in the light; not even the dimmed artificial light of the lounge. She'd overlooked that. And suddenly he's there, handing her what looks to be a DVD box set with a plain black cover, and 'J INTERVIEWS' scrawled on the spine.

"It's all here," he said.

"The uncut version?" she asked, her breathing a little raspy.

"More than that. The complete twenty-hour interview footage is in there, too."

"My _God._ There was said to be just _one_ copy left in the entire world, and the twenty-hour stuff had vanished completely ... _You_ had it, all this time?"

"I did."

"_How_ ... let me guess, you _"have your ways."_

"That's right," he replied, unmoving.

"But _why?_"

"Reference. Research_."_

"I see. Would you like tea? Coffee?"

"Not right now, but thank you. Where's your DVD player?"

"At the side of the TV." Jeannie sat down and poured herself a cup of tea. "So, what can I expect?"

"The worst. I must warn you, Ms. Reinking - this is _not_ easy footage to watch. Are you sure you still want to go ahead?"

"Quite sure," Jeannie replied, determined.

/

They're four hours into the seven-hour uncut version of the documentary. Jeannie looks at Batman. He's glued to the footage, expressionless. She marvels a little at his ability to do that, and wishes she could too, because with each passing Joker appearance, she dies a little more inside.

They've sat through other interviews interspersed between the Joker footage. Victor Zsasz. Mad Hatter. Some guy on Death Row in Texas. A woman who bludgeoned her entire family to death, believing she was on a mission from God. Even Harley Quinn was interviewed. Jeannie is astonished – disturbed, too - by just how much Harley resembles her. Looking at Harley is like looking at a crazed mirror image of herself. Of course, all she speaks about is the Joker. How "Dr Harleen Quinzel" is dead, and never existed in the first place. How she only became "real" when the Joker "liberated" her. How he's the "strongest, greatest" man who ever lived, a genius, a God amongst men. There's a fading yellow bruise along the woman's jawline. Jeannie knows, deep down, exactly how she got it. This young woman was a psychiatrist once; no mean psychiatrist either, if accounts are to be believed. Now she's sitting in front of a camera in a straightjacket, completely broken, her hair in pigtails like she's regressed to being a child again, talking about "Mistah J this" and "Mistah J that" in a sweet, cracked voice that shines with tragic optimism. For the first time, Jeannie feels truly afraid. Is this the fate that awaits her, too? Would she be better off just staying the hell away, out of his life?

The Joker's on again. Dirty dead-white face, blackened red lips peeling back over slightly yellowed teeth. Eyes veined, their color popped, and streaming with madness. Even in still pictures, the constant movement in his eyes is apparent, but on film, it's obvious. Something livid and terrible inside him, the wheels of his mind ticking over all the time, without respite. It's there even when he isn't talking or smiling. But occasionally, very occasionally, she senses helplessness; a certain despair, like he's trapped inside a fairground ride he cannot stop. She also realises - to her horror - that he doesn't really want to either.

"_Remember Lucas Piastrini?" He begins. "__Erstwhile reality TV no-mark turned self-styled 'rock star.' Had that dreadful song, something about "A Piece of Me." __Well, I'm watching TV, just like every good little homicidal maniac does on his day off, and this video comes on. And there's our little no-mark, prancing about dressed as various Gotham rogues. __I mean, REALLY! __Is_nothing_sacred anymore? __My art, reduced to a vapid piece of pompous pop pap! __Disgraceful!_

_There's this scene where I - that is to say, Luky-boy in an el-cheapo costume - struts down this corridor and opens a door, only to find Batman – also Luky, natch – screwing__ my erstwhile girlfriend, 'Harley Quinn', or rather, some pouty model-type dressed as Harley, on a waterbed. _

"_Well, that was COMPLETELY unacceptable. __I mean, Batsy would NEVER cheat on me like that.__ I was heartbroken. And he was_smirking_, too! __Batsy_never_smirks._ _Bitch won't even_ smile_at the best of times._ So of course_the brat had to die. __Like his singing wasn't reason enough. __Such CHEEK!"_

Jeannie stares, disbelieving at what it is she's hearing. The absolute _amusement _in the Joker's voice, the _glee_. There's no remorse there, no regret. No sign whatsoever that he knows what he's done is wrong. Not like with the others, who seemed to realize they were locked up with good reason, seemed to understand why their behaviour was unacceptable, just that it was something they were unable to control.

The Joker is almost like a child in his enthusiasm, almost… _innocent_. Like he really, _really_ doesn't get what the problem is.

Jeannie finds herself frowning, her brow creasing in anxiety. She realizes it's because, that's _exactly_ how Jack used to act.

She remembers he used to act inappropriately at times, though nothing sickening like what the Joker did, nothing perverse or depraved. They were harmless actions. But she recalled how Jack had never seemed to understand what it was he did wrong, even after she would reprimand him and explain that he just couldn't _do_ things like that.

_The afternoon was going smoothly, for once. And Jeannie was grateful. She supposed it was because of how many people were here. Too many for anyone to be really _focused_ on her or Jack. _

_She looked over at him. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes cast down. He'd been following her around like a lost puppy, refusing to leave her side or socialize himself. _

_She'd told him he didn't even have to come today if he didn't want to, but he'd actually insisted, shaking his head and saying, "It's your graduation Jeannie. I'm not going to miss it." _

_She'd smiled at him._

_He was so ridiculously sweet, and he didn't even know it._

_Because she knew how hard this was for him. She could see it now, as she watched him, see the tension in his body, the discomfort. _

_And yet he was hugely accommodating to her, letting her move about as she pleased, never complaining, never protesting when she wanted to go talk to someone. He would just follow and stand aside, silent, as she chatted away with whoever. _

_A few people had asked her about him, and she'd introduced them, saying "This is my fiancée. Jack."_

_Jack had really made the attempt, doing his best to actually look up at them and smile, to say hello back. _

_And so far, it had been working. _

_People were so eager to get around, to talk to as many of their classmates as possible, that they didn't ask any questions of him beyond that. And things were okay._

"_Jeannette!" She turned, and saw Rachel heading towards her, smiling and pulling her boyfriend Tommy behind. _

_Rachel was a big deal Lacrosse player at Gotham U, and Tommy a football player. They were jocks, but they were nice. Each had taken a journalism class with her, just trying to fill credits, and they'd struck up a minor friendship, occasionally eating lunch together and chatting whenever they saw each other on campus. _

"_Hey Rachel! Tommy!" She greeted back, moving to meet them half way, Jack following closely._

_Rachel squealed excitedly. _

"_Ohhhh, can you _believe_ this?" She said. "We finally made it!" _

"_It's hard to believe." Jeannie agreed, grinning. "It sometimes felt like we were never going to get here." _

"_Well… here were are!" Rachel went on._

_And then Jeannie saw her eyes shift to Jack. _

"_And who's this handsome fella?" She asked, looking up at him. "Don't tell me he's your brother!" _

_Jeannie laughed. _

"_No, no. This is Jack. My fiancée." She smiled._

"_Your _fiancée_?" She exclaimed. "You never told me you were engaged! I didn't even know you were _seeing_ anyone!"_

_Jeannie just kept smiling._

"_Well we just decided on a date a few weeks ago." She explained. _

_Rachel kept looking at Jack, grinning. _

"_That's fantastic! So, Jack!" She started. "I don't think I've ever seen you before. Did you attend college elsewhere?"_

_Jack glanced up at her before shifting his eyes to Jeannie. She could see his questioning, that he was unsure of how to respond. So she stepped in._

"_Jack decided college wasn't for him." She said, and her expression was one of mild warning, letting the other woman know not to say anything insulting._

"_Oh!" Rachel replied, blinking. And then she smiled. "Well that's okay. College isn't for everyone." _

_Jeannie smiled back._

"_Exactly."_

"_Well, Jack, I say who needs college when you're as good looking as you are! Right?" Rachel went on, clearly admiring Jack's handsome features._

_Jeannie's eyes moved briefly to Tommy, who's expression failed to hide his discomfort. She didn't think he would make anything of it though. Rachel was big on complimenting everyone, he knew that. And besides, she knew Jack wasn't about to flirt back, and so Tommy would have no reason to feel threatened. _

_Jack had smiled at the compliment before quickly moving his gaze back down._

_Thoughts raced through his mind then. _

_Jeannie had been trying to teach him to _reply_ when someone spoke to him, to acknowledge them and what they'd said. She told him it would make them less uncomfortable and so less hostile towards him. _

_He remembered her telling him, 'when someone pays you a compliment, you should try to return it.' She'd told him he'd be surprised how much nicer people could be, if they thought you were being nice to them. _

_He'd told her he wasn't _trying_ to be mean to anyone, that he was being nice. He just didn't always know what to say to them, that he was afraid of their reactions, afraid he might say something wrong._

_She'd nodded and said she understood that, but then explained that not everyone would. That they would take his shyness as him being rude._

_He'd been working hard not to disappoint Jeannie. He knew his awkwardness embarrassed her, even if she never said so. He didn't want to embarrass her, he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable. So he'd concluded to try, to make the effort to appear less strange._

_He flicked his eyes back up to the girl who'd just told him he was good looking. That hadn't been the first time he'd heard a girl say that. He never knew what to say back, not knowing if they were being sincere or just making fun of him, and not sure why they would even comment on his physical appearance in the first place. _

_He swallowed, again hearing Jeannie's voice, telling him to compliment back._

"_T-thank you." He managed, quietly. "You… you have a very n-nice… nice body. I can tell you're… you're physically fit because your… your breasts are small a-and taut. Not like… like some girls."_

_The silence which followed was heavy, as everyone stared, their jaws hung open, their eyes shocked. _

_Jeannie felt her insides freeze up. _

_Oh Jesus Christ… _

_Her heart began to race as she saw the expression of disbelief melt away from Tommy's face, replaced by sudden anger._

"What _did you just say?" He asked, staring hard at Jack, his hands forming to fists. _

_Jack blinked. _

"… _Your… your girlfriend has a nice… a nice body." He repeated, looking down. "I was saying her… her b-breasts i-indicate she's in good ph-physical fitness."_

_Tommy looked back, incredulous. _

"_Are you really that fuckin' stupid?" He asked. "You want me to beat your ass?" _

_Jack was entirely confused. He didn't know why everyone had gone so quiet, or why this man was suddenly asking strange questions. _

"_I-I'm sorry." He started. "I t-thought…"_

"_Apologize to _her _you stammering fuck!" Tommy spit. "Apologize or I'll rearrange your stupid face!"_

"_No!" Jeannie stepped in. "Listen, I'm sorry. I'm _really_ sorry." She grabbed hold of Jack's arm. "He- he didn't mean anything by that. He wasn't trying to be rude. He just has trouble sometimes… he doesn't always know what's okay. He didn't mean anything by it." _

"_What is he, a fuckin' retard?" Tommy glared at her a moment before looking back to Jack, who was now looking at Jeannie, his brow furrowed. _

"_No..." Jeannie shook her head. "Listen, I'm sorry. Will you… just please excuse us." She began to drag Jack away, off to a secluded corner, trying to ignore the looks of repulsion and anger both Rachel and Tommy were now shooting her way._

_When they finally were out of ear shot, having disappeared in to the crowd, Jeannie let go his arm and pressed her hand against her forehead, closing her eyes. _

"_Jeannie?" She heard Jack ask. "Did… did I do something wrong?" _

_She shook her head, finally removing her hand and looking up at him._

"_Oh, Jack…" She said, her brows creased in worry. "You… you can't go around _saying _things like that honey."_

_She could see in his eyes that he didn't understand, that he didn't know what he'd done wrong. He just kept staring down at her, unsure._

"… _I don't know what I did." He said, looking away. _

_He sounded like a little boy._

_She sighed._

"_Baby, it's considered intrusive and… and _crude_ when you bring attention to a woman's breasts and you don't know her, and even then, it's really only okay when you're intimately involved with her."_

_He looked back, and she could see he still didn't get it, didn't understand the reasons it was considered bad. _

_He looked so lost._

"_I… I'm sorry." He apologized. "I was trying to do what you said I should. I didn't… I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm sorry."_

_He sounded almost frantic, mortified that he'd let her down. _

_She shook her head, reaching up and placing her hand gently along his cheek._

_It wasn't that. She was worried about _him_. If she hadn't been there, if she hadn't been there to explain and pull him away, he would have just stood there, confused, not understanding what he'd done to upset them, maybe not even understanding that they _were_ upset, and he'd have gotten hurt._

_She was so afraid that one day he was going to get _more_ then hurt…_

She was jarred back to the present by the sound of his voice. Intense and frenzied. Her eyes moved back to the screen, seeing the Joker, staring wide eyed, leering. He was gesturing wildly with his hands, theatrically, like Jack had always done when performing, only… only the movements seemed almost violent now, like he had too much energy, that at any moment it would just explode out.

He was still talking about that reality-star he'd killed.

"_So I've got him in his apartment, strung up upside down, butcher's knife in hand. There I am, skinning away, whistling a happy tune. __He's singing his songs, or rather, choking them out – I don't think anyone would be in a fit state to actually_sing_at that point, but whatever. Sounded better than the crap he usually put out, anyway. __I've told him I might be willing to stop and let him go if he keeps singing, but that was a lie of course, haha. __I'm just having waaay too much fun.__ Turns out he can't really sing at all. __Someone else sang on his records, I'll bet.__ He passed out soon after that. __BOR-ING! __So I fetch the axe, and get the slice-and-dice machine all set and readied, and ..."_

Jeannie tuned out the rest. She didn't want to hear. She couldn't handle it.

This was a nightmare. A numbness ran through her limbs, her throat having gone dry, denial taking her heart.

This couldn't be Jack. It _couldn't_ be. It just made no _sense_. This hadn't _been _in him, this sickness, this _capability_. She'd known him all his life practically, and never once had she seen it, seen any sort of deviant behaviour, any sort of inclination towards it.

How could exposure to chemicals have caused this? How could it have completely _changed _who he was, with no semblance left of the man she'd loved?

But she didn't want to believe that, to believe there was nothing left of him.

There must have been something there, even if she couldn't see it now. There _must _have been.

Her eyes closed. If there wasn't… if there wasn't, then it was no different then him having truly died those14 years ago.

Her brows furrowed as the thought past through her mind "_Maybe that would have been for the best_."

And almost instantly she hated herself for thinking it.

"_What about the scandal which ensued afterwards?" _She was brought back by the interviewer's voice_. "The candy received by members of Piastrini's fan club? You were involved with that, weren't you?"_

"_...Oh, the_lollipops!_" The Joker exclaimed.__ "__They were a blast! __I have these cutesy green and purple lollipops all hollowed out, with smiley faces on them. __I stuff the little cubes of meat into the hollows - carefully of course, don't want bits of gristle stuck in my lovely shag carpet! – and send 'em off__ to Luky-boy's beloved fans. __So I guess they all got a "piece" of him in the end, hahahaha! __Well, I suppose it serves him right. At least nobody has to listen to his caterwauling ever again. __He did a_great_Riddler, though."_

/

**Hey guys! Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! Been a bit busy trying to update all my other stories too, haha. But anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Again reviews are welcomed and appreciated. Please let me know what you think, as it helps to encourage me to keep writing. And a HUGE thank you to everyone who left me reviews on my last chapter. I was so happy and grateful to receive so much feedback! **

**I promise that soon they'll be more interaction between Jeannie and the Joker. Now that he's back in Arkham and she knows where to find him, lol. **

**So again, hope you liked this chapter. Let me know! And thanks so much to everyone for reading and reviewing! Hope you stick around!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

The interviewer could be heard clearing his throat, obviously nervous.

_"What about your most recent, uh… escapades? You were accused and convicted of mur…"_

_He paused, seeing the look of warning in the Joker's eyes._

_"O-of _killing_ a woman's unborn child…"_

_The Joker smiled, nodding._

_"You confessed to it."_

_"That I did. Oh, that was the _best!_" His eyes_ _lit up. "The young lady's lying there, moaning, and I'm "just one more spoonful, attagirl!" Eating the placenta after birth is supposed to be good for the mother, after all. Full of iron. Mmm, tasty! So I guess my recipe for Abortion Soup was inspired by that. Funny how it never shows up on the Cookery Channel, though. I'll have to do something about that ..._

_"… Oh, don't look at me like that! She was, what, 17, 18 years old? I should think I was doing her a favor. That's no age to be having a child, I think you'll agree. She simply wasn't equipped with the necessary life experience. Last time I checked, abortion was still legal in this country."_

_"… But you… you _fed _her own… her unborn CHILD!"_

That was it.

Jeannie couldn't take this anymore.

She looked away, covering her mouth with her hand, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes.

"Please…" she began. "Please can you…"

Batman glanced over at her, and noticed she was trembling.

"Can you _please_ just turn it off? Just for a little while?"

He nodded, not questioning the request as he hit the stop button.

"… I-I'm sorry…" Jeannie went on, her voice shaking. "I'm sorry, I just… I couldn't listen to that anymore."

"It's fine, Ms. Reinking," Batman reassured her, nodding solemnly. "As I said, the video is difficult to watch. You've been doing a commendable job, keeping your composure."

She shook her head, unable to help the tears which now fell from her eyes.

"It's just… not possible. I can't believe that's Jack. How _can_ it be? "

"The voice analysis confirms it, Ms. Reinking." Batman said carefully. "They're the same person."

"But it doesn't make any _sense_." Jeannie continued her protests. "Those … those terrible, terrible things … they weren't _in_ Jack. I knew him. I _knew_ him! And those things weren't there. This _monster_ wasn't there! How he could have become this? Are you sure we haven't made a mistake? Jack's body was never found. Could he have just … floated out to sea, or something?"

Batman exhaled slowly, looking away.

"I understand," he began softly. "After viewing your home movie, I also had a difficult time reconciling the fact that your husband and the Joker were the same man. And if it's any consolation Ms. Reinking, I think, perhaps, they're the same in only the _physical _sense. Your husband… Jack, he wasn't this. Of that I'm certain. The man you knew was _real._ It was the circumstances of his life which caused this; forced him to become this. He was _made _in to this, but this isn't who he'd _been_."

He was telling her the truth.

At several points he'd had to pause the movie, give himself a rest, finding himself overcome by unexpected emotion.

Batman tried always to detach himself from the cases he investigated and the criminals he encountered, to remain neutral and objective towards it all.

But with the Joker, he'd never been able to do that.

The Joker was different. He'd always driven Bruce to the edge, towards blinding rage and disgust; towards murderous intent even. And yet, he also had made him feel sadness and pity. Sometimes, he would look at the Joker, and see a man suffocating in his own madness, trying desperately to claw his way to the surface, only to be pounded mercilessly back again and again. Sometimes, when he looked in the Joker's eyes, he could see the lunatic _pleading _for him to help, to save him from the torture of his own existence. There was _pain_ there, a crushing, engulfing pain which he knew the Joker could not escape.

Unlike himself, the Joker could not remove his mask. It was all him.

It was why, sometimes, after he'd beaten the madman to within an inch of his life, Batman would occasionally hate himself.

And it would be made _worse_ by the Joker's laughter. There had always been a certain hardness underscoring that laughter; an acknowledgement of futility. It had always astonished Batman just how little the lunatic seemed to care for his _own_ safety. He couldn't imagine what could have caused someone to regard themselves as so worthless that their only recourse was to _laugh _in the face of mistreatment.

Bruce had felt his own heart sink on realizing that the Joker and Jack Napier were one and the same person, and like Jack's erstwhile widow, had found his mind battling the notion that the man in the video could have possibly transformed into the man he knew.

The differences were more then glaring. They were perfect opposites. The first thing Bruce had noticed was that Jack Napier was quiet. Soft-spoken. Barely able to articulate himself at all without stumbling over the words. It was a quiet he recognized. One he'd seen many times in cases of children who'd been severely abused. Quiet caused by _fear_. Children afraid to speak because each time they did, they expected to be hit; children who were shy and introverted because they'd been _beaten_ into submission, eventually absorbing the belief that their voices didn't _deserve_ to be heard. That was Jack. Bruce could see it, plain as day.

But then Bruce noticed the warmth in Jack. If the Joker was the ultimate pessimist, then Jack may very well have been the world's greatest optimist. Like a child, he was hopeful and trusting. Despite having been treated cruelly all his life, he believed people were ultimately good. He'd spoken about it, about how he was sure there was good intention in everyone, even those who did wrong. That he didn't think _anyone_ was truly evil. Strange, Bruce had thought, how this echoed the Joker's belief that evil wasn't something that existed, but a man-made concept. Jack's belief, however, was born from idealism, not from having been exposed to the indifference of life. The tragedy of it was, he seemed to blame himself for the pain he'd suffered.

_"I don't think people are cruel to me on purpose." Jack said, looking down. He was shaking his head, and for several seconds, he said nothing more._

_Somehow, the conversation had shifted to this. Jeannie couldn't pinpoint exactly what had caused it. But she remained silent, allowing Jack to compose himself._

_"… People are good, I think. Innately good." He nodded to himself. "Given the chance, they'll always choose to do the right thing, I think."_

_Jeannie wanted to ask him how he could believe that when people had been so horrible to him. She didn't understand how he could have so much hope in them._

_Jack sighed deeply, still keeping his eyes cast away from her._

_"… if they're cruel to me, it's only because they're afraid. I… I'm strange, I know that…"_

_"Jack, don't…" Jeannie finally interrupted, but he only shook his head._

_"No. It's okay. I-I know I'm… I'm weird and that it upsets people. It isn't their fault, it… it's mine. If I wasn't so strange… if I was more like… like them, I'm sure… I'm sure they wouldn't be so cruel."_

_"Jack." Jeannie said. "_Stop _it. It's _not _your fault. Just listen to what you're saying! If they can't accept someone that isn't like them, then that's _their_ problem, not yours. And you _aren't _strange. Alright? You're an amazing human being, Jack. Don't you _ever_ think otherwise."_

Jack had smiled at her, letting her change the subject after that.

Batman could see there was no _violence_ in this man. He could see it in his eyes. There was a genuine sweetness about him, a tenderness even. He was withdrawn and shy, but also honest. He wasn't a deceiver, which was perhaps the thing which made it most difficult to accept he'd turned into the Joker, the smoothest _liar_ Batman had ever met.

Bruce could see from the openness of Jack, from the trust and hope he placed in things, that he was very sheltered. It was likely he'd had few friends – no friends - outside of his wife. He was distinctly vulnerable, soft, easily deceived, easily fooled. Someone who would have been an ideal target for anyone looking to take advantage. And that was what had eventually happened.

It was heartbreaking.

To think that, because he'd believed that _good _existed in people, because those same people had _abused _that belief - abused _him_ because of _that - _he'd morphed into someone who could see no good at all, could see only the ugliness and the hatred and the brutality of life,. That was the mosrt depressing thing of all. How someone Bruce would have described as a beautiful person had become someone so terrible.

"What do you know about Jack's father, Ms. Reinking?" Batman asked, looking to her.

"His father?" she sniffed, wiiping the tears from her face.

He gave a nod.

She scoffed, turning away, and scowled.

"Only that he was a rotten bastard."

He kept his eyes on her in the hope she would elaborate.

She turned back, folding her arms over her chest and shaking her head.

"Jack's father used to beat the _hell_ out of him," she said, sighing. "He'd come to school all busted up. Sometimes he wouldn't come back for days, weeks even. Enough time for the wounds to heal." Again she shook her head. "I used to ask him about it, and he'd always just go quiet and tell me not to worry about it, that he was used to it. He knew it wasn't normal practice for parents to beat their kids, but he'd become so accustomed to it, I guess, that he just accepted he wasn't in a normal situation – that he'd drawn the parental short straw, as it were - and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Other than me, his father was all he had. There was an element of self-blame too, something else his father had drummed into him.

"I remember telling him that was absurd, that he needed to tell an adult about what was happening. But he would always get super upset when I'd say that, beg me not to tell anyone. He said it would only make things worse, that his Dad might kill him if I did. Teachers would ask him about it, of course, why his face and arms were so bruised up, and he always had some lie ready. Like he'd fallen down the stairs to his apartment or something."

Batman nodded gravely.

"I met him a couple of times. He was this _huge_ man. As big as you. Maybe a little taller, even. Jack had obviously gotten his height from him. But that's where any similarities stopped. Jack was very thin. But his Dad? The guy was built like a brick shit house, if you'll pardon the French. Thick and muscular. Jack never had a chance against the bastard. Even when he'd gotten in to his late teens, he was still showing up to school with a busted up face. Into his twenties too, until I finally persuaded him to move out and come live with me. I know for a _fact_ his Dad's the one that caused him to be so insecure."

Batman's interest seemed to peak at this, and he looked intently at her, waiting for her to continue.

"The few times I met him, he'd treated Jack like dirt, saying all kinds of degrading things to him, putting him down every chance he got. And that was with_company_. I know he was holding back, trying to put up appearances, make it seem like he didn't treat Jack all that bad. But if you could have seen the way Jack was around _him_…"

_"Sooo… _Jeanette_ Reinking." He began, looking down at her with glaring eyes. "You're the girl Jackie-boy here talks so much about, huh?"_

_She looked back at him, standing straight, refusing to slouch despite his attempts to seem imposing. And he _was_. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't intimidated. But she wasn't about to let him know that._

_She could tell instantly she didn't like the man, and it wasn't just because she knew he beat Jack. There was something vile about him, something cruel. It radiated from his very being._

_How he could be related to Jack, she didn't know._

_She'd have been sure Jack was adopted, had it not been for the man's height, and how very much they looked alike. Jack was tall like him, and they shared the same, handsome features, that long, angular face, high cheekbones and large eyes. But there the similarities ended. His father was much more solidly built, taller still, though she suspected, eventually, Jack's own height might surpass his. While Jack was very thin, slight even, his father was broad and muscular and thick. A fright train looked like it would have little success in knocking him down. His hands were huge, as Jack's were, but Jack's were long; long, thin fingers, long palms. His father's were thick, like meat hooks, the fingers nearly as wide as two of his sons, and palms much broader. And while Jack's hands were smooth, his father's were calloused and blistered, the nails dirty and split. A workers' hands. All Jeannie could think of as she stared at those hands was them coming down without mercy on Jack, _hurting_ him._

_The man continued to eye her, his gaze roaming over her form, sizing her up, a sly smirk forming on his lips. She was used to guys looking at her, grown men even, and she'd long since learned to ignore it. But his looking at her… looking at her as he was, she had to work not to turn away._

_"I have to say …" he began, "I didn't really believe Jackie here when he told me you were beautiful…" His eyes slid away, towards his son. It didn't escape Jeannie's notice how Jack's gaze immediately fell to the ground. Nor did she miss the smug expression on his father's face. "His interest in the opposite sex being in question and all, what would he know about a _beautiful _girl?" He laughed, loud and lewd, and Jeannie frowned deeply._

_"Hee ha… just kidding, sweetheart!"_

_But he _wasn't_. He wasn't kidding._

_She glanced at Jack, who continued to stand rigidly, his eyes fixed downwards._

_His Dad had shown up out of nowhere, just as the two of them had been getting ready to leave the school grounds. As usual, Jack was planning on walking her home, but they hadn't made it past the front lawn when the hulking man had stepped from behind a tree. He'd been waiting for them._

_Jack's eyes widened with fright the moment he saw him, and he'd frozen in place. Jeannie had looked at him, asking him what was wrong, taken aback by his stricken expression._

_But he hadn't been able to answer her, and had instead stared blankly ahead._

_That's when she'd turned and seen his father approaching them._

_"Know how I found out about you?" his Dad said, chuckling. "Jackie here…" he laughed. "He knows better then to try and keep secrets, or _usually_ he does. But this time… well, maybe he just _forgot_ to tell me about you." He looked at his son. "What d'ya say Jackie-boy?" He reached out to nudge his son on the cheek, clearly enjoying his discomfort._

_"Either way, I found out. And you know how?" He looked back to Jeannie, continuing to laugh, shaking his head. "Real _cute_. Jackie here's an _artist_. You know that Ms. Reinking?"_

_Jeannie just kept staring at him, unable to hide from her eyes the repulsion she felt._

_"Yeah!" His Dad continued. "Draws and paints and all that … namby pamby stuff." He waved his hands about. "I'm always tellin' him he shouldn't be wasting his time. That that's no thing for a boy to be doin'. I try to discourage it, but you know, seems like no matter how many times I take his pens and paper away and all that junk, he finds more to do it with. Stubborn, that Jackie is." He shrugged._

_"Well anyway, one day, I walk in to his room and he's sittin' there on the floor, drawing a picture of this _beautiful _girl. He tries to cover it up the second I come in, of course, 'cause he knows I don't like that crap." He chuckled. "Oh, but I made him show me. You could imagine my surprise. I say to him, 'Who's this, Jackie?' and he stumbles and stutters, you know how he is. But eventually I get it out of him." He looked at Jack, smiling knowingly, and Jeannie knew full well what he meant._

_"He tells me this girl's his _friend_. Now I'm even _more_ surprised, cause Jack here, he's _got_ no friends. Especially friends who look that good. But he swears to me he's telling the truth. And low and behold, I guess he was! Just had to see it for myself, ya know?"_

_Jeannie's lip curled in absolute disgust, and she glared at him with unhidden hatred._

_"Fact, I think I've got that picture on me!" His father reached into his back pocket, producing a folded piece of paper. He began to unfold it. "Real _sweet_ of him!" he exclaimed._

_Jeannie knew he didn't mean sweet in the literal sense, but sweet as in sissified. She wanted nothing more then to slap the bastard across the face._

_He wasn't even _trying _to hide the insults, nor the pleasure he got from doing it._

_And Jack couldn't even look at the man._

_Suddenly his father was shoving the paper in front of her._

_"See?" He said. "That's you, I'm guessin'. Though it ain't a perfect likeness or anything. Jackie-boy ain't a _real _artist."_

_She stared at the paper, at the pencil rendering of her face. _You couldn't be more wrong, asshat, she thought.

_The drawing was an exact, unmistakable likeness. The photorealism of the portrait stunned her._

_She looked at Jack, her mouth hanging open. He looked away nervously. His body was rigid, tense. She could see he was mortified with embarrassment._

_She hadn't even _known_ Jack could draw at all, let alone like _this_._

_What made it so incredible was that he could _only _have drawn it from memory. He didn't have any pictures of her, she knew that for a fact. He would never have been able to hide them from his father, who made a habit of rifling through his room while he was at school. He'd never had money to buy class photos or year books._

_She was about to say something when the picture was wrenched from her hands, and she looked back to find his father, staring at it with disgust. He shrugged, folded it back up and shoved it in his pocket._

_"But you know what I can't figure out …?" he muttered. "Why a girl like _you _… would want _anything _to do with a boy like Jack. Just doesn't make a whole lotta sense to me."_

_Jeannie's mouth twisted in anger and she folded her arms over her chest, staring hard. She could see it all, see suddenly just why Jack had always been so unsure of himself, had such low self-esteem._

_"Jack is one of the most amazing people I've ever known," she replied steadily._

_His father looked back at her with glistening eyes, a sick smile spreading across his lips. He glanced at Jack, who remained silent, still refusing to look up, and then back to her._

_"You one of those gals who likes to take boys like Jack under your wing, like a pet project? Gives you something to feel good about? Cause I gotta tell you, Missy, I don't much like people giving Jackie-boy here _false hope_. I don't want the kid to become delusional about his place in the world. I'm sure you understand. It'd only lead to him getting hurt."_

_Jeannie had to stop herself from scoffing._

_As if this bastard actually _cared _about Jack._

_"Jack's a little slow, ya see." His father tapped his own head. "Can't always see the forest for the trees, if you know what I'm saying."_

_Her eyes narrowed._

_"Jack is _brilliant,_" she snapped. "And if I choose to associate with him, it's only because I _want _to."_

_Jack's father dripped sarcasm. "Is that so?" he sneered._

_"_Yes_. It _is_. Jack and I have been best friends for a _number _of years. Hardly indicative of something born from _selfish_ intentions. I think the problem is _you_. _Mister_Napier. If you ever bothered to look past your own disbelief, you might see that your son and I have been…"_

_She was cut short by someone grabbing hold of her arm, and she looked to her side to find Jack, staring at her with wide and pleading eyes. Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. He was begging her to not say another word. His expression rang with barely-concealed terror._

_His father cocked his head to the side._

_"… Have been… _what_, Ms. Reinking?" He asked._

_Jack looked practically on the verge of tears, his brow creased in anxiety, and she could feel from his hand on her arm that he was trembling._

_She stared back at him, her heart suddenly sinking as she grasped the problem._

_Slowly she turned back to his father, feeling Jack's hand slip from her arm._

_"Nothing," she said, her voice suddenly quiet._

_"Nothing?" His father said. "Really? Because it sure sounded like _something_ to me."_

_Jeannie said nothing back, simply glaring at the man._

_She feared she'd already done the damage, afraid if she said another word, she might only make it worse._

_His Dad smirked, looking from her to Jack._

_"… Course…" He began. "Jack knows _better _then to go foolin' around with girls. Don't ya Jack?"_

_"Y-yes Sir." He said, his voice almost inaudible._

_And his father continued to smile._

_"That's it. That's a _smart_ boy. Cause Jackie here, he knows what would happen if he ever _did_, doesn't he?"_

_Jack nodded._

_"Speak up _son_!"_

_"Yes… y-yes Sir."_

_His father laughed._

_"Hey, maybe there's some merit in you gettin' in to these fancy schools yet, huh? Can't be _all_ dumb, I suppose. 'unless I find out you're _lying _to me. Cause you'd have to be _real_ stupid to do somethin' like that, wouldn't you, kiddo?"_

_Jeannie wanted to kick the man in the nuts. She wanted to drop him where he stood, humiliate the hell out of him for what he was doing to Jack. She didn't think she'd ever felt so much venom towards another human being in all her life._

_Suddenly he stepped towards his son, his arm outreached, and Jeannie felt her heart shatter as Jack visibly shrank back from him in fear. She could see in an instant he'd thought his father was moving to _strike_ him._

_Instead he'd wrapped his arm around Jack's shoulders and pulled him close, jostling his hair with his free hand in some parody of fatherly affection._

_Jack looked like he might pass out, his face a mask of painful uncertainty._

_The ease with which his Dad had moved him didn't escape Jeannie's notice, and now terror gripped her own heart as she thought of how easily he might _hurt_ Jack._

_She wanted to say something, to _do_ something to help him, but she couldn't think _what_._

_"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you Ms. Reinking." Jack's father grinned, holding Jack against him, and Jeannie could feel her stomach tie up in knots. "But me and Jackie here have gotta be on our way. So if you don't mind …"_

_Jack didn't move; didn't protest or even look up. His shoulders hurt from the pressure of his father's grip, and his arms hung stiffly down his center._

_And without another word, his father turned away from her, walking away._

_Jeannie watched in dread as they headed off towards the direction of the subway station, unable to look away. She thought she should go after them, somehow get Jack away from that monster. But she knew deep down there was nothing she could do, no way to help him, and it made her feel queasy._

_They nearly were out of her sight when she saw Jack's father unwrap his arm from him and shove him away, as if repulsed. Jack responded by curling his own arms around himself, continuing to walk with his head down._

_Tears stung at the back of Jeannie's eyes. Oh Christ, what was going to happen to Jack?_

_She felt like she'd just sent him off to his death._

_With difficulty she turned away, feeling a tear escape down her cheek._

_This was _her_ fault. If she hadn't opened her big mouth, if she'd just stayed quiet, maybe… maybe he would be alright. Maybe if she'd lied, said she was a classmate who'd been helping him with an assignment …_

_An actual sob escaped her throat as she suddenly realized Jack had probably believed his father; believed he still didn't know about the two of them as a couple. But his father knew. She could see in his eyes that he'd figured it out._

_And by God, now Jack was going to pay for it._

_"_Oh God, please_…" she thought. "_Please help him_…"_

_/_

She looked away from Batman, shaking her head. "He was terrified of the man. Absolutely _terrified_. The next time I saw him, I knew something horrible had happened. He'd walked with a limp for almost a month after that, and for a long time, if possible, he was even _more_ withdrawn, more quiet then usual. I tried asking him what had happened, but he always just folded up and refused to talk about it.

Anyway, I insisted he'd have to leave his Dad after that. Away from that apartment. I told him he could come live with me if he wanted. But it had been almost impossible convincing him. He kept saying he couldn't, that he _needed_ to be with his Dad. I knew his father had been responsible for that line of thinking too. He never wanted Jack to go anywhere; never wanted him to do anything or be away from home for longer then necessary. Didn't want him to be out of his _sight_. Jack had no _confidence_ in himself because of his father and because of that, he continued living with the bastard until he was almost 21 fucking years old!

"And that whole time, that _whole time_ his Dad was still hitting him, still beating him, even as a young adult! I was so afraid Jack was going to wind up dead. I was a year out from graduating college by the time I finally convinced him he had to get out. I'll never forget the night it happened."

"Go on," Batman said.

"I was living in a one bedroom apartment my parents were renting for me, out on the Upper East Side. It had been really late, something like three or four in the morning, and I hear this banging on my door. Of course, in a place like Gotham, that's always a bit unnerving. But it was an okay part of town, near the campus, and I figured chances of it being someone dangerous were slim. When I looked through the peep hole, I saw Jack standing there, with his back to me, so immediately I open the door." She paused, shaking her head. "When I did, I remember him turning around, and nearly passing out at the sight of him. His… his whole _face_ had been covered in blood. He was just bleeding profusely, from his nose and his mouth, and he had these cuts all over his forehead and his cheeks…"

_"Jack…? My God, what _happened_?" Jeannie said in a panic, immediately reaching out for him._

_"M-my f-f-father…" He stammered, and she noticed now how terribly he was shaking, violent tremors running throughout his whole frame._

_"Oh Christ…" she cried, pulling him in to the apartment, immediately slamming the door shut and dead bolting it._

_When she turned back towards him, he hadn't moved from the spot, and she went to him, turning him to face her._

_She could see underneath all the blood that his face was already beginning to swell. Determined not to let Jack slip away, she reached up and grabbed him firmly by the shoulders._

_"We've got to get you cleaned up," she said. She took hold of his hand and lead him towards the bathroom. He didn't protest, allowing himself to be led._

_This is what she'd feared was going to happen, this is what she'd dreaded._

_Once they reached the bathroom, she brought him to the toilet, making him sit. He did, wrapping his arms around himself as she rummaged in the medicine cabinet for supplies._

_She pulled hydrogen peroxide from the shelf, along with cotton swabs, medical gauze and tape. Settling it all on the counter, she took a clean washcloth from the rack and rinsed it with warm water. She kneeled in front of Jack and set about cleaning the blood from his face._

_"I-I-I'm s-sorry." He stuttered. "I s-shouldn't have… have c-come here. I just d-didn't… d … didn't know where else to g-go…"_

_Jeannie breathed out, feeling tears threatening at the back of her eyes. She fought hard to keep them back._

_As the blood came off, she could now see the horrible bruising. Black and blue and purple, running over nearly every inch of his face, his eyes already beginning to swell shut. She could see from the bruising around them that his nose was likely broken._

_My God, what had that monster _done_ to him?_

_"I-I'm sorry," he repeated, and she shook her head._

_"Jack, _don't_. Don't apologize. Don't _ever _apologize," she said softly. Tears fell from her eyes. "You have… you have nothing to be sorry for."_

_The cuts on his face were numerous, some clearly deeper then others, and she feared he may require stitches for some. Either way, if his nose was broken, they were going to have to go to the hospital._

_"H-he might c-come here…" Jack stammered, glancing around nervously. "H-he might have f-f-followed me here…"_

_"We'll worry about that later, Jack," Jeannie said crisply, dabbing peroxide onto a cotton swab. ._

_"W-what if he c-comes? I w-won't… I won't let him h-hurt you. I p-promise I won't."_

_"Jack, stop it. That's not _important_. What's important is that you're here. That you got away."_

_He flinched as she began to dab at the cuts._

_"I'm sorry." She said quickly, and he just shook his head._

_"Jack, what _happened_?" She finally asked after several minutes._

_He shook his head again._

_"My D-Dad… h-he… he was s-so mm-mad."_

_Jeannie could see he'd been badly shaken, that he was scared to death._

_"He… I th-thought…."_

_He paused, inhaling deeply, letting go a shaking breath._

"_Th… this is m-my fault J-Jeannie. It's m-my f-ffault."_

_"Jack, you did _nothing_." Jeannie reached out, running her hand gently through his hair. "That slimeball was going to do this to you regardless."_

_"But he was s-so mad. He was so m-mad Jeannie." He said._

_Her brow furrowed._

_She was going to kill that sonofabitch herself. If he even _thought _about showing up and darkening her door, she was going to kill him._

_"What happened to your face Jack? How did you get these cuts?"_

_He looked away from her._

_"Jack…?"_

_"H-he… he b-broke one of his beer bottles on the f-floor…"_

_Jeannie's hand came up, over her mouth. She could feel herself shaking now._

_"He p-pushed me down o-on to it, my f-face…"_

_"Oh Jesus, baby, no…" Jeannie cried._

_"I don't know how I-I got aw-way… I just… just k-kept ru-running, I knew I had to just keep running. I'm sorry. I'm so s-sorry."_

_She reached forward, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close._

_"No sweetheart, _no_." She rested her head against his shoulder. "You did the right thing. Trust me, baby. You did the _right_ thing."_

_/_

"Did Jack ever go into detail about his father?" Batman asked.

Jeannie shook her head.

"Not really. He talked about him occasionally, but he didn't like to. Me and him … it was _our _time, you know? It was precious to him, and he didn't want to waste it talking and thinking about that bastard. He never gave details about what his Dad _did _to him. If I pushed him on it, he would fold up, go totally quiet. Or get really upset and ask me to stop. So I would. He was ashamed of it, I think. Embarrassed."

"What about his Mother?" Batman asked.

"His Mother died when he was born." She replied. "That was something else he didn't really like to talk about."


	9. Chapter 9

**Once more, a big thank you to my beta, MadCapLaughs, for helping out hugely on the chapter and giving me a great deal of inspiration, advice and helping me to write it.**

**Chapter 9:**

It would be another hour before Jeannie felt ready to finish the tape. A few minutes in though, and she was again doubting whether or not she could.

She watched, the interviewer having changed the subject to feelings of remorse, asking the Joker whether he was at all concerned with how his actions were affecting the lives of his victims families, asking whether he was at all concerned with upsetting them.

"…What, moi, concerned about upsetting my victims' families?" The Joker had answered flippantly. "Nope. I'm not saying it to be hurtful. Nah, that'd mean I actually care about troubling the poor dears, and I don't. I'm just being honest. People like to play down death. To prettify it or pretend it isn't there. Oh, she's with the angels now! Crap like that. Human beings are such hypocrites, you know? We think we're so in control, and yet we have to dress up death in a pink fluffy tutu in order to make it palatable. We have to pretend it isn't really death. Now Batsy, on the other hand, would look quite fetching in a pink fluffy tutu. Dontcha agree? Oh, and less of the "victim" spiel, please. That's no way to talk about my audience, is it?"

"What about Batman?"The interviewer tried a different tact, seeing he wasn't going to get anywhere with the last question. "A lot of people consider him an inspiration. There's a feeling of… hope he elicits…"

The Joker scoffed, loudly, rolling his eyes.

Jeannie glanced over at Batman, who sat as still as ever, no clear expression on his face as he continued to watch the screen.

If the things the Joker was saying were at all bothering him, he wasn't showing it.

"Oh, _that_ miserable bitch." The Joker started. "Inspirational? All _he's_ ever inspired is a bunch of S&M freaks from here to Star City. Gorgeous scowl, though. But I'll tell ya something, s'long as you pinky-swear not to tell another soul; I _live_ for those blows. There's this moment, just after that sharp initial burst of pain; this lovely sort of painful, tickly itch that makes me just wanna _lean_into him. You know those experiments scientists used to do, where the mouse keeps throwing itself compulsively against an electric wire? It's kinda like that, only _he's_the rodent and _I'm_ the scientific genius. Revenge of the Rodent!"

He laughed sharply.

Again Jeannie glanced at Batman, and still he showed no, overt emotion.

"What do you think about sex?" The interviewer asked.

This immediately drew her back to the screen.

"Sex?" The Joker looked at him pointedly, his brows raising yet still appearing half-bored.

"Well the way you speak of Batman… Some people think your crimes are sex related. That you get some sort of physical pleasure from murder."

The Joker laughed lowly, shaking his head.

"Oh, there's that _word_ again Charlie." He said. "_Murder_. I'd appreciate you not trivializing my work that way."

There was a pause, and then the sound of the interviewer clearing his throat.

"Alright. But what about the question? Do you get some sort of _physical_ satisfaction from… what you do?"

"I'll tell you what sex is Charlie." The Joker started, leaning back in his seat. "It's a base desire, born from a base _need_." He shrugged. "Like any animal, people are inclined to procreate, to make _sure_ the survival of their species. Ahh, but see, in order to ensure that survival, with an animal as complex as a human being _is_, nature had to provide _incentive_. Had to make it worthwhile. People are funny that way Charlie. Too intelligent for their own good sometimes. And _very_ good at ignoring their own instincts. The population wouldn't be quite so healthy today if sexual intercourse didn't feel so good. I promise you that."

Silence fell between them, the only sound the sound of air against the microphones, and then, suddenly, the Joker smiled, wide.

"But that's not what I think." He continued. "Those are just stated facts."

He breathed deeply, letting it go with a sigh before again shrugging.

"Sex, I think, is a great _test_." He started. "A wonderful means of gauging a person's limits. You see…" And he leaned forward, resting his forearms across the table, the clink of his cuffs sounding loud. "I've always found it fascinating how far some are willing to go once their… desire for physical pleasure has taken hold. Fear…" He nodded. "Fear is perhaps the strongest of motivators. The thing which most dictates a person's actions. And if the fear becomes extreme enough, of course, it becomes the sole motivator, at least, for _most_." Again he smiled. "Certain situations though, and I've seen anger and desire overcome fear. Righteous indignation and unbridled lust!" He laughed softly.

The interviewer didn't respond and the Joker stared at him for a long moment, the smile going from his face.

Abruptly, he started again.

"Let me explain." He said quietly. "People know my face. They know my reputation. Their initial reaction, of course, is to be afraid." He smiled. "That's natural. But as I said before, people are very good at ignoring their instincts, most especially if you're able to see what it is they really _want_ and have the…" He snickered. "the talent to _give it_ to them."

There was no response and the Joker sighed when it seemed Charlie wasn't comprehending.

"I can't tell you how many people I've convinced up to hotel rooms, always against their _better _judgment." He finished.

"… And what do you get from that?" The interviewer finally asked, a hint of disgust in his voice. "What does that do for you?"

The Joker shrugged, leaning back.

"It's an experiment Charlie. I get to observe the bounds of their inhibitions, see how willingly they dismiss their will to survive in order to gratify some depraved, sexual fantasy."

"So, you're disgusted by them?" The interviewer asked. "By their desire for sex? Are you saying you aren't at all interested in sex then?"

""Not for the act itself, no." The Joker shook his head.

Jeannie brought her hand to her mouth, feeling suddenly sick.

This couldn't be the man she'd been married to, the man she'd known since he was just a boy. It _couldn't_ be.

He was so different. So utterly unrecognizable.

_She was looking down at him, smiling, while he looked back at her, a kind of hesitant anticipation in his eyes._

_Slowly she reached out, cupping his cheek in her palm. _

"_Just relax, baby," she said softly. "You're doing good."_

_She saw him swallow, and then nod stiffly. _

_This was going to be his first time._

_But it wasn't hers. _

_The first time Jeannie had had sex, she was only 14 years old. That had been foolish, and she realized now how lucky she'd been not to become pregnant, or contract an STD. She hadn't been on the pill at the time, and the guy had refused to wear a condom._

_Since then she'd been more responsible, insisting the few lovers she'd been with wear protection. And there really had only been a few. Two, to be specific. And even during the times those relationships had been happening, she knew she didn't love those boys. They'd been flings, purely physical. Nothing more._

_She'd known she loved Jack since the first time they met. Since they were children. _

_But it hadn't blossomed in to a physical attraction until he'd turned fourteen; after he'd hit a growth spurt. Suddenly he was taller then everyone else in the school, which was strange since he was also several years younger. And it was then too she'd first noticed how very good looking he was. He no longer looked like a boy; he looked like a young man. And she thought he was gorgeous. So, too, did the other girls. She would overhear them while in the locker room, or while passing them in the hall, talking about how "hot" Jack Napier was. She'd even witnessed some of those girls trying to hit on Jack, which had infuriated her. But Jack never seemed to realize that was what they were doing. He was completely oblivious to their signals and flirtations, and eventually, the girls would grow disgusted and storm away, thinking he'd been blowing them off. _

_That wasn't it. Jeannie _knew _that wasn't it. Jack truly didn't understand; he wasn't able to tell what it was they wanted._

_And she was just fine with that._

_She was sure he wouldn't have been interested in them, even if he'd known they were interested in him. These were many of the same girls who'd treated him like dirt in previous years, after all._

_The first time they'd kissed had been out on the bleachers, behind the school. _

_She'd been looking at him with clear desire in her eyes. But she knew he wouldn't be able to pick up on that._

_Jack needed to be told things directly, in order to understand them. _

_And so she had._

"_Jack…" she'd said. "I want to kiss you." _

_He'd looked at her, his eyes slightly wide._

"_R-really?" he'd asked. She nodded. _

_And so they had. _

_It was after that they became an "official" item. People would sneer at them whenever they were seen holding hands, and Jeannie's other friends would question her as to why she was going out with him._

"_But he's a total _freak,_ Jeannie," they'd say. "He's just too weird. I mean, people are _talking!_"_

_Those girls hadn't remained friends for long after. _

_Jeannie had been disgusted by them, telling them they could go fuck themselves. _

_She didn't need people like that in her life, and in retrospect, she realized she probably should have stopped talking to them a long time ago._

_The only time Jeannie had found herself doubting whether it was a good idea to keep seeing Jack was when a group of boys had beaten Jack up in a jealous rage. _

_Jeannie was good looking. Blonde, petite, expressive blue eyes. Even she knew it, though she never talked about it. She knew, hypothetically speaking, that her appearance could potentially give her status and sway in the school pecking order. It was no secret that many of the guys at their school had been trying to get with her since practically forever. _

_So when they found out that "freaky" Jack Napier had somehow landed her, they were beyond angry. _

_It had happened on a Wednesday, after school. Jack always used to walk her home before taking the subway to his own in the Narrows, and they'd been cutting across the back field together when a group of four boys seemed suddenly to appear. _

_They'd complained bitterly, asking Jeannie why she was going with Jack and not them, accusing her of doing it only because she "felt sorry for the loser". _

_She'd scoffed at them, told them to screw off, that she was going with Jack because he was a hundred times the man they'd ever be and besides, she loved him. _

_They hadn't liked that at all, calling her a slut and a whore. _

_At that point, Jack became angry. "Don't talk about her like that!" he yelled. _

"_Jack, it's alright," Jeannie soothed, trying to steer him away. "Who cares. C'mon baby, let's go." _

_But Jack couldn't go. They'd insulted his girl, his best friend, and the only thing to do in a situation like that was to retaliate. So he stood his ground, refusing to budge._

"_What did you say?" spat one of the boys, glowering at Jack._

"_I said… I said don't _talk_ about her like that," he replied, more uncertainly this time. The four boys circled and gathered, amused smirks on their faces, moving in for the kill. _

"_Yeah? And what are ya gonna do about it, bean pole?" _

_Jack had pushed Jeannie behind himself then. _

"_Just don't." He'd answered. "I mean it. _Don't."

"_Please, baby ..." urged Jeannie. "Let's just go. Please." _

_One of the boys burst out laughing. _

"_I think he wants to make something of it, guys!" he crowed, looking around at his friends, all of whom echoed his hysterics. _

_A second boy stepped forward, a sadistic twinkle in his eye. "That girl of yours is a fucking disgusting slut who likes to sleep with even more disgusting freaks like you," he said, clearly relishing every word. He flicked a look back at his expectant audience. "I'll bet she's fucked the whole Goth population!" he exclaimed, laughing. "And it's aaaaall the way down from there, isn't it Jeannette? As evidenced by this … loser you're with right now."_

_Jack had launched himself at him right then; exactly what they'd wanted. _

_The boy had easily dodged his attack, letting him stumble past with the momentum of his missed punch, and then he'd proceeded to push Jack from behind, on to the ground, and they'd all gathered around then, laughing._

"_Awww, look at the poor _baby_." One of them mocked in a childish voice. "Has he fallen and can't get back up?" _

_Jack had made the mistake of trying to get to his feet then, embarrassed, humiliated. But again, it had been just as they'd wanted, and he didn't even make it to his knees before he was kicked across the face, promptly put back down._

_Jeannie remembered screaming until her voice cracked. _

_They'd beaten the hell out of him._

_She'd tried stopping them, grabbing hold of one of the boys' shirts and trying to pull him away, but he'd just shoved her down before turning back and resuming._

_Jack had been completely defenseless after only a few of their blows, but that hadn't been satisfying enough for them, and they'd just kept hitting him, over and over. _

_Halfway through, Jeannie had started crying. She'd been terrified they were going to kill him, not knowing if she should run for help or stay. _

_Finally, after Jack had stopped moving completely, after he was left lying limp on the ground, they'd stopped. _

_One of them had spit on him before the four of them sauntered off, laughing and high-fiving each other, as though they'd just accomplished something to be proud of._

_Jeannie's heart seemed to tighten in her chest when she noticed he wasn't moving. She didn't think she'd ever been so frightened in all her life. The relief she felt when he apparently came to and tried to push himself up from the ground was overwhelming._

"_Oh God. Are you alright?" She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped his blooded nose and lip. "Here, hold this to your nose. It's okay, Jack. They're gone."_

"_T-they didn't… h-hurt you, did they?" he said, hit by an overwhelming wave of dizziness which forced him back down. _

_More tears had filled her eyes and poured down her face as she shook her head no. _

_He told her he was alright; that she didn't have to worry, even as he wiped the blood from his face. _

_That was the only time she had doubted whether she should be with him. Not because of anything to do with _him_, but because she was so scared that he would continue to get hurt if she stayed with him. _

_Looking down at him now though, any and all doubts vanished. Jack was the man of her dreams, as corny as that sounded. She didn't think she'd ever felt a love as intense as she felt for him. There was no question in her mind that they belonged together. _

_He'd just turned 16, and they'd both agreed, finally, to take the relationship further._

"_Do you know how to put this on?" she'd asked, holding the packet in front of his face. _

"_I… I think so..." he answered unconvincingly, taking it from her._

_But she could see from the way he was fumbling with it that he would probably need help._

"_Here, I can do it," she said, smiling as she took the packet from him. He looked embarrassed, but she figured he'd be even more so if he got the thing open and then had no idea how to put it on. He watched her intently as she tore open the packet and began to explain how it worked. _

"_See, you just keep it like this…" She held the tip of the rolled-up condom between her index finger and thumb. "And then you just ease it down over yourself." _

_He inhaled sharply when she took hold of him, and she couldn't help the small smile which crept up on her lips._

_Within a few seconds she had him covered, and she stared down at his face._

"_Are you ready?" _

_He gave a weak nod. _

"_Alright." She scooted forward, then raised herself up on her knees. _

_He was looking at her with so much anticipation and uncertainty. She wanted him to be comfortable. _

_Slowly she lowered herself on to him;_

_Jack wasn't able to stop the loud gasp which pushed past his lips. _

_He'd never felt anything like this before. _

_She smiled softly at him, continuing, and within the next moment, he was fully inside her. _

_She just sat there a moment, not wanting to overwhelm him. _

"_You're doing really good Jack," she reassured him. Again he nodded, keeping his gaze on her face. _

_All the other guys she'd been with had always stared at her chest. That alone was proof enough for her that Jack was several cuts above the rest. _

_She leaned forward, over him, and pressed her mouth to his, kissing him gently, his breath hitching in response. _

_She knew he was going to climax quickly, but if she could make the experience last a bit longer by going slow, that's what she was going to do. She wanted him to enjoy this as much as possible. _

_He kissed her back, and they stayed that way a long moment before she leaned back. _

"_Just relax, honey," she repeated, placing her hands on his flat chest. _

_She loved Jack's body. She loved how long and smooth it was. He didn't have much muscle, or any definition at all, not really. He was thin and sinewy. But that's what she found so attractive about it. Most guys were concerned with getting big and bulky. She'd never been into that kind of thing. _

_He breathed out, trying to keep himself calm. _

_And very slowly then, she began to move on top him. _

_Another gasp escaped his lips, his eyes still on her face, focused. _

_After a few moments, he finally spoke. _

"_A-are we… are we h-having… h-having in-interc-course now?" _

_She smiled, forcing herself not to giggle. God, he was so _cute_, and he didn't even realize it. She nodded._

"_Yes." _

_The sensations were more then he'd realized they'd be; a warm feeling had gradually started to pool at the pit of his stomach, radiating downwards. Soon his eyes had closed, his mouth hanging slightly open. _

_Jeannie was amazed at how quiet he was, the only noise coming from him the tiny gasps, every few seconds, and his more labored breathing._

_She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. Jack was such a quiet boy, after all, so reserved. _

_He certainly looked to be enjoying it though, so she wasn't concerned over that._

_Her suspicions were confirmed when, after about a minute and a half, she felt him tense underneath her, his hands clenching the sheets inadvertently, and a kind of yelp tore from his throat. _

_His body convulsed slightly for a few seconds following, and then he fell completely limp, his breathing still somewhat erratic, his eyes still closed._

_When he at last opened them, he saw Jeannie staring down at him, smiling, and he looked back with amazement._

"_Did… did you feel that too?" he asked, wondering. _

_Her smile widened, and she nodded. When she saw him react with a similar broad smile, she knew she'd made the right decision._

_She hadn't climaxed. But he didn't need to know that. This had been for him. _

She'd understood not to judge Jack based on that first performance, and as it turned out Jack would become a very deft lover, always able to elicit great pleasure in her.

"So you get no satisfaction out of it? You don't enjoy it at all?"

She was pulled back from the memory by the sound of the interviewer's voice.

She looked back to the screen and watched as the Joker smiled knowingly.

"Now I never said I didn't like the way it _feels _Charlie." He raised his hands, as though it were obvious, letting them fall again a moment later. "It's pleasant enough. But it isn't ever the reason for why I engage in any sort of sexual activity."

"But don't you ever feel the _need_ for sex? You're a man, after all."

The Joker laughed lightly, smiling, seeming very amused.

"Indeed I am." He said. "But I have no desire for it. It isn't a thing which interests me."

"Really?" The interviewer asked, as though disbelieving.

"Really." The Joker answered, still grinning.

"Even… even locked up as you are? You're confined to your cell 23 hours out of the day, if I'm not mistaken. There must be little else to keep you entertained. I would think at those times, even you must resort to things such as… well, such as pleasuring yourself, to put it bluntly."

All at once, the enjoyment drained from the Joker's face, the smile vanishing from his lips.

For several, long seconds, he stared at the interviewer, and if she hadn't known better, Jeannie would have sworn she saw in his eyes a kind of shame, a kind of embarrassment.

It was a look she'd seen many times in Jack's eyes.

But the Joker… The Joker had no humility, he had no feelings of wrongfulness.

But she could have sworn, for the briefest of moments, there it was.

And in an instant it was gone, replaced by anger.

"I don't do that." The Joker finally answered, his voice now flat, stripped of the flippancy which before laced it.

"Not even when you're locked up, when you've got nothing to do but stare at the four walls of your room? You must at least think of i…"

"I _don't_…" The Joker cut him off, and now the anger was apparent in his tone. "_do_ that." He finished, and for the first time in the conversation, he fell completely silent, completely unmoving as he pierced the man across from him with his gaze.

The interviewer dropped the subject entirely after that, moving on.

Jeannie bowed her head down, not knowing if she could continue, not knowing if she could take any more of this.

It all seemed so impossible, completely impossible that this… _man_, this _thing_ on the television screen had been her husband, had been the man she loved.

But at the same time, it all made a kind of twisted and depressing sense. It felt somehow logical, when she thought back on certain things, recalled certain things about Jack.

He had admitted to her later, after that first time they'd made love, that that had been his first sexual experience of _any_ kind. She'd slapped him playfully on the arm, assuming he meant he'd never gotten beyond second base before, and said she knew that already. What he meant, however, was that he'd never done _anything_ of a sexual nature before, not even solo. She'd looked at him, astonished.

"You mean… you've never… never even _masturbated_?" she'd asked.

He'd shaken his head, looking down, embarrassed.

When she'd asked him _why_, he'd shrugged, and explained to her his father had always told him it was wrong, said if he ever discovered he'd done it, he'd kill him.

So he never had.

He said he couldn't risk his father finding out, not with his temper.

She'd wondered back then how it might have damaged him. Now though, she was convinced it must have traumatized him in some way, that it somehow helped in developing what he was.

When she'd seen that look in the Joker's eyes after that interviewer had asked him about masturbation, seen the way he reacted, and then remembered what Jack had told her, all those years ago, about his father, about how he'd been made to believe any kind of self-pleasuring was wrong, how he'd been too scared to ever try anything…

She thought maybe it in some ways led him towards wanting to be deviant, wanting to rebel against any sort of control or taboo.

Something had to cause it.

And she thought also it must have gone towards developing in him what were obviously feelings of disgust, but also of curiosity towards the act of sex in general, and towards people's desire for it.

Like it somehow was an enigma to him, something confusing, something he didn't understand.

"What about other serial killers?" She was brought back to the screen by the interviewer asking another question.

"_Other_ serial killers?" The Joker asked back, as though he didn't know what that was.

"Yes. You know, Ted Bundy, Jeffery Daumer, John Wayne Gasey. Even Victor Zsasz, who shares Arkham with you as his home. What do you think of those men?"

The Joker scoffed loudly.

"Losers. The whole lot of them." He said disdainfully.

"… But… these men have committed acts similar to your own. Don't you feel a kind of… I don't know, _kinship_ with them, maybe."

Anger flashed in the Joker's eyes, his mouth pulling to a frown.

"Don't _insult_ me." He said, his voice dripping with disgust. "There's no similarity whatsoever between myself and those sad sacks."

"But they kill as you kill…"

"_No_." The Joker cut him short. "They do _not_."

Silence fell between them a moment.

"What's the difference then?" The interviewer finally dared.

"I should think it's obvious…" The Joker started. "But since you seem to be _lacking_ in your powers of perception Charlie, allow for me to _spell it out_. Those men kill and _killed _for the feeling of power it gave them, the feelings of control and dominance and…" He smiled vaguely. "to realize their sexual fantasies, to fulfill them and make them reality…"

His eyes narrowed at the interviewer, his expression serious.

"The only killer I should ever be compared with is nature itself."

"…Nature?" The interviewer sounded confused.

"To act without purpose, without reason. To _do_ for the sake of doing alone. I kill as Nature kills. Because I _can_. Because it's there to be done."

"… You're saying there's no _reason_ you kill? That you don't get anything out of it?"

"The act itself means nothing." The Joker continued. "Does nothing _for_ me. I don't get some kind of _thrill_ from it, if that's what you mean. What I find interesting is people's reactions to death, to the _threat_ of it…" He paused, his eyes rolling up. "Their fear of it is fascinating, I think. And how that fear causes them to label it as something bad, something…" He chuckled. "Something _evil_. Death, of course, is none of those things. It's nothing at all, really. Only what it is, the end of life, of creation. Good and evil, wrong and right, as forces those things don't actually _exist_. They're nothing more then concepts, created by man to help control the world they've built around themselves. You see? There's no reason _not_ to kill. It's of no consequence. No consequence beyond what man himself brings down, anyway."

"You don't believe what you do is evil then?" The interviewer asked, sounding astonished. "That it's wrong?"

"Of course it isn't." The Joker was fast to answer. "That isn't a belief Charlie. It's a factual _reality_. My death, and the death of all else, means _nothing_. And for our _lives_, the same is true. There is no purpose in it, no _plan_ as decreed by some divine being. It simply _is_, with no reason beyond it, no point greater then what it appears.

Survival is the only, _real_ goal, the only reason behind the actions of all those _good _people out there. Morality is nothing more then a means of survival, a set of rules put in place to help better ensure our self-preservation.

Really, people should thank me. I demonstrate to them through my actions the needlessness of their own, self-imposed restrictions. I show them how to be truly _free_. As _I _am free." He pressed a hand against his chest. He seemed truly sincere now, serious for the first time in the interview. "How to live without carrying the burden of false hope or the guilt of responsibility." He continued. They shouldn't allow fear to govern their every move, for in the end, it does nothing for them. It cannot _save_ them."

"… Yes. I've read about these beliefs of yours." The interviewer said. "It's why you're in here they say. Because you can't actually grasp wrong and right as a concept of reality, that you can't accept its existence. They say that qualifies you as legally insane."

The Joker's expression contorted in sudden anger.

"I'm _not_." He said, frowning. "I'm not insane. Insanity is living a _lie_; a life of oppression in denying ones very nature and the nature of the universe. Letting another dictate the rules of your existence, all in some futile hope of staving off the inevitable, as though death were actually something you could avoid, and life was something you could control. For the _feeling_ of being safe, when safety is nothing more then some grand illusion. Something as false as the morals and ideals which have people convinced themselves to be innately born within them.

The whole _world _is in denial." He said, his voice rising.

"… And… and those who call you a murderer? Who call you evil?"

"Then I say to them, so too is nature!" The Joker hissed, leaning forward. "As I only do as nature herself does, every moment of every day. Kill without discrimination, without reason or purpose, randomly and cruelly and blindly. Nature is the ultimate killer. And no creature is as close to her as we, none so _like_ her as we. People are the most ruthless of animals. The most vicious. That is their _truth_, beneath all the pretense, beneath all the civility and righteousness. It's how they've survived against things so much stronger then themselves."

The Joker was beginning to talk more quickly, his tone now energized, determined.

"Will you call Nature evil?" He went on. "Will you call her wrong? As you call me evil? Call me wrong?

A tidal wave comes crashing down on some strip of land and kills thousands of people. And this somehow is God's will? This is a part of his plan? Were those people's lives worth less then those who survived? Were they less important? Less meaningful? Did their demise ensure the preservation of those who lived? Were their deaths necessary to that preservation? Would those who made it not have if those thousands hadn't been wiped out?

You know the answer to that as well as I.

Morality is a _lie_ Charlie. Notions of good and evil, wrong and right, nothing more then abstract concepts. They aren't _real. _They don't exist outside of the world we've created around us, rules we enforce in an attempt to extend our meaningless, pitiful lives one, _last day._"

For a moment, the Joker remained as he was, leaned forward, his gaze intense and unblinking as he stared at the man across from him, his face a mix of both anger and frustration.

And then, abruptly, all the tension seemed to go from him, and he leaned back again, his expression relaxing. He shrugged.

"People just don't want to face reality. They'd rather go on believing all their suffering, all their struggles actually _amount_ to something. That there's an actual _reason_ for it all. It depresses them to think their existence is nothing more then what it _is_. They apply meaning to _themselves_, to their _lives_, hiding from their own inconsequentiality, making up all kinds of rules and laws and codes of _proper_ conduct."

For the first time in the interview, the Joker actually looked away, his eyes casting down.

"It's pathetic." He said, his voice hushed.

Jeannie stared at him on the screen, the sound of static filling her living room as both he and the interviewer went quiet, and here again, she saw flashes of Jack. He appeared depressed to her suddenly, almost… almost _sad_. Almost _hurt_ behind the anger.

She'd seen Jack like that many times, in exactly the same type of situation. He used to argue with her constantly, trying to convince her of some silly, childish notion. And she remembered how upset he would get when she would laugh him off, when it appeared she wasn't taking him seriously. He would sit with his eyes fixed on the floor, beginning to mumble things like "You don't understand." Or "That's not what I mean." He always tried to look angry, but more then anything, he just looked hurt.

He was so much like a little boy.

And she would apologize then, taking his hand, trying to calm him down, telling him she hadn't intended to make fun of him.

She could see that now as she watched the Joker. See that same frustration and pain, like he was overwhelmed by his inability to make someone else understand what he was saying.

Only with the Joker, there was an air of danger, of violent and unstable tension.

That had never been there in Jack.

He'd always seemed fragile to her, vulnerable.

The Joker didn't appear that way at all.

No.

He was purely frightening, looking as though any moment he might explode in a whirlwind of destruction.

The interviewer seemed to pick up on this as well, as he tried then quickly to veer from the topic.

But it wasn't that danger radiating from the Joker which most disturbed Jeannie in that moment. No. It was how _convincing_ he had been, how rational sounding.

She was mildly horrified to realize she found herself actually _agreeing_ with many of the Joker's words, thinking there was indeed a very real truth to them, a real logic.

He didn't sound insane to her.

He didn't sound sick.

He sounded like he was more _aware_ then other people; more aware of reality.

It wasn't an excuse, not for the atrocities which he had committed, and very obviously, there was something severely _wrong_ with him. But she had to admit, he didn't seem so very monstrous then, he didn't seem _inhuman_. More like some radical philosopher, albeit one who took his philosophies a little too close to heart.

He was a nihilist, she realized. One who didn't just speak of nihilism, didn't just preach about it, but actually _lived_ it, actually applied it in the most literal way to his life and the life of everyone else.

He was unique in that way, she was sure.

He lived like nothing mattered, like nothing had any, _real _consequence. That's why he killed, that's why he hurt people, why he hurt himself. Not because it gave him a feeling of power or dominance or control, not because it excited him, but because he believed, _truly _believed, that it meant nothing. That it was neither wrong nor right, good or bad. That it just _was_, and so he'd figured, why _not_.

He killed just for the hell of it.

For no reason at all.

Because it was something to _do_.

And maybe a good way to expose what he viewed as people's hypocrisy.

And somehow, he made it sound logical, made it sound _okay_, like there really _was_ nothing wrong with it.

That, more then anything, forced a chill down Jeannie's spine.

That's what was really frightening about the Joker.

How _sane _he sounded… How _right_.

She didn't know how much more of this she could take.

/

_Okay guys. Please leave reviews! _


	10. Chapter 10

**Again, huge thanks goes to my beta, TheMadCapLaughs, who, as always, has helped immeasurably with this story.**

**Chapter 10:**

The walk to the holding area where she was told she would interview him had seemed to take forever, so many thoughts swarming through her mind, so many doubts and fears.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Maybe she should just turn back now. What if she was putting her life at risk by doing this? Worse still, what if she was putting _Rory's_?

He probably wouldn't even recognize her.

He'd seemed to in the coffee shop, but who could say if he would again, or if he even had then.

The man she'd seen in those tapes, the man she'd read interviews with and who Batman had told her about, it was almost impossible to believe he was the same man her husband had been. Really, she'd thought, he _wasn't _the same man. He was so radically different, so completely changed.

Jack had been a gentle man, a kind man, incredibly talented, and smart, and funny.

The man she'd been studying these last, few weeks, she could hardly call him a man at all. He seemed more of a monster, some horrific creature you told children about to get them to stop misbehaving.

And while Jack had been reserved, had been quiet and shy and easily embarrassed, the Joker was the exact opposite of all that. Brazen and loud, flamboyant and without any kind of shame whatsoever.

No, she never would have thought them the same person, or thought the Joker had once been someone so unlike what he was.

Except… except there _had_ been similarities, aspects of the Joker which _belonged_ to Jack, could only have _been_ Jack. Certain facial ticks, the way he held his body at certain times, the way he gestured. His mannerisms. And then his voice… it _was_ Jack's voice. The exact same tonality, the exact same speech patterns, the only real difference being the enthusiasm with which he spoke. Jack was never so fevered in his speaking, never so whipped up. But those times when he'd been performing for her, when he'd been really happy, he'd sounded just like the Joker then, with the same excitement in his voice.

She'd been sure of it, but reluctant to accept what, in her heart, she already knew.

Something the voice analysis had proven beyond doubt.

Her and Jack had only ever taken one home video, the day after their wedding, when they'd managed to save enough to rent a camcorder.

She hadn't watched the thing in years. It was too painful.

But after giving the tape to Batman, after he'd run the test, she'd forced herself to watch it, and while the pain had been there as she feared it, she'd also felt her heart swell with a kind of joy, a kind of happiness that she'd only ever felt when her and Jack had been together, all those years ago.

"_Is… is this thing on?" Jack was looking through the lens of the camcorder, pointing it at Jeannie, who sat on the couch, looking up at him, smiling._

"_The light is on." She said. "The red light on the… whatever you call it, on the top there, see?" _

_Jack bent the camera to the side a little to see what she was talking about._

"_Oh, yeah. That means its working!"_

_She only smiled back at him as he readjusted the thing and pointed it back her way. _

"_So, Jeanette Vivian Reinking, how does it feel, being the _new _Mrs. Napier?" He asked, interview style._

_She giggled._

"_._WONDERFUL_!" She answered, spreading her arms wide, draping them against the couch's back cushions. _

"_And Mrs. Napier, would you mind telling the camera just what you found so attractive about your spouse that you would actually _dare _to join his hand in, uh, what's that they say? Oh, holy matrimony?"_

_She laughed again._

"_Jack!" _

"_Over here Mrs. Napier, over here!"_

_She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling her giggles. _

_Jack cleared his throat._

"_So?"_

_She struggled to rein her laughter in, but finally she was able, and she looked at the camera, still smiling. _

"_I married Jack Napier because…" She blinked, and slowly the smile faded from her lips, a seriousness taking its place. "Because he's the most amazing, wonderful human being I've ever known and ever will know, and because there's no one else in this world who I love more, no one who means as much to me. That's why."_

_A silence filled the space between them, Jack moving the camera from his face so he could look at her. _

_He'd never tell her, but the reason he hadn't said anything then, the reason he didn't speak, was because he couldn't. _

_He'd felt his chest restrict at her words, a breathlessness take him and a stinging at the back of his eyes. _

_God, he'd been sure he would cry if he spoke. _

_He couldn't understand. It confused him so much that this woman was now his wife, that she'd accepted him like she had. That she… that she _loved_ him. _

_She'd seemed impossible to him, the first time he'd laid eyes on her. She was so beautiful. He'd known he'd never have anything to do with her. _

_And it seemed unreal then when she'd actually come up to him, spoken to him. Not to be cruel, like everyone else did, the only reason anyone _ever_ spoke to him. No, because she had been _kind_. _

_She hadn't talked to him like he was a freak, like he was some kind of abomination. She hadn't sneered at him and regarded him as though he were worth less then the dirt on her shoes. She'd treated him, for reasons he still didn't know, like he was her equal, like he was a human being. _

_He still had the irrational fear that he might wake up and find it had all been nothing more then a dream._

_Because no one had ever shown him kindness._

_No one had ever been good to him._

_No one had ever loved him._

_He was impossible to love._

_He'd known that his whole life._

_He couldn't understand._

_He swallowed back the lump in his throat, trying to steady himself._

_And then he swung the camera around, so that it now faced him._

"_You heard it here first folks…" He joked, because that was the only way he knew how to handle it. " A GCN Exclusive! That beautiful woman somehow found room in her heart to love a miserable sop like me! It can _only _be a miracle! For surely the fates are against it!" _

"_Jack…" Jeannie reprimanded. _

_She hated when he talked about himself like that. Like he wasn't worth anything. He may have guised it as self-deprecating humor, but she knew him. She knew he wasn't really joking at all._

_She stood from the couch, going to him._

"_Come here." She said, taking his face in her hands, pulling him down so she could kiss him._

_And for a long moment, they stayed like that, his eyes closing at the warmth of her lips._

_This is where he felt safe. This was where he felt okay._

_The moments he felt like maybe he could truly succeed in life._

_Her hands remained on his face as she pulled back, staring up at him, her expression serious._

"_You deserve all the love in the world Jack." She said. _

_He smiled bashfully, and she could see doubt in his eyes._

"_Listen to me." She said. "I _love_ you Jack. And you deserve every bit of that love. Do you understand? It was my _honor_ to marry you. My _privilege._ There's no one else I'd rather be with. You're _it_ for me. You're my beautiful man Jack."_

_She continued to hold on to him, her thumb smoothing gently across his cheek. _

_His eyes flicked down, to the floor, uncomfortable. _

_For a moment longer, she held him, and then finally she let him go._

_She didn't say anything, allowing him the room to compose himself, knowing how he sometimes became overwhelmed. _

_She worried that he didn't believe her when she said that, that he couldn't because of how he was used to being treated. _

_But then he smiled, placing the camera down. _

_And reaching out, he encircled her in his arms, holding her close against his chest, resting his cheek atop her head. _

"_I swear Jeannie…" He began, his voice almost a whisper. "You've saved my life."_

Throughout the rest of the day, they'd taken turns filming each other. Her favorite part, she thought, was the section when she'd had Jack sit down on the couch and answer questions about himself and his life. It had always been such a pleasure, just to hear him talk. He was like a child, with his often idealistic, sometimes over simplified view of things. He thought so many things were possible, so much was attainable. He dreamed big. And yet, that section of the film was also the most painful to watch, because his strange sort of optimism was in sharp contrast to the facts of what his life had been up to that point, and what it _would_ be. To the pain he'd already suffered, and the circumstances he found himself in, the struggle to stay afloat.

He didn't like to talk about his childhood. The part of it before he'd met her, most of all.

"_Say hi to the camera Jack!" Jeannie said, sitting beside him, the lens facing his way._

"_Hi to the camera Jack." He answered, and she laughed._

"_Now, Jack, I want you to be serious a moment." _

"_Serious?" He questioned. "What's that?" _

"_You know, answer with honesty." _

"_Uh oh." He twisted his mouth up, his brow furrowing in mock concern. _

_She laughed lightly. _

"_When were you born?" _

"_Hmmm, long, long ago. In a land not far from here."_

"_Jack!"_

"_Alright, alright. May 27__th__, 1972. There, happy?"_

"_Very." She answered. "And where were you born?" _

"_Here. Gotham City." _

"_Born in Gotham." Jeannie nodded. "And how old are you?" _

_Jack smiled, that kind of embarrassed look._

"_I just turned twenty-two, five days ago."_

"_Twenty-two!" She exclaimed. "So _young_!"_

_He turned away from the camera, shrugging, still smiling._

_It had only been a year and a half ago that he'd finally gotten it up to move out of his father's apartment. Finally gotten the courage. _

_His father had told him there was no way he'd be able to make it out there on his own, and Jack had believed him for a long time. He'd only been able to get away from him because of Jeannie. Because she'd convinced him he could. _

_His father hadn't been very happy about it, to say the least._

_But that's what he'd done, regardless. He'd moved in with her, in to a small, one bedroom apartment in the city, one which her parent's had been paying for. _

_It was only until he was able to get on his own two feet. He'd promised her that. He was going to get work, get a good job, and then get his own place. He was going to support her. _

_It was only in the last six months that he'd been able to find a job which paid well enough for him to afford any kind of rent, and even with that, the only places he could afford had been in the Narrows. _

_But still, he'd insisted to her that she move in with him, feeling it wasn't right for him to be living off of her and her parents. _

_He was the man, he was the one who should be the provider. _

_She'd relented, though she hadn't been thrilled about moving in to the Narrows. _

_But that was just for a little while. He promised her it was. As soon as he got a real job, they'd move in to a nice part of the city, and everything would be okay._

"_So, just turned twenty-two." Her voice snapped him from his thoughts. "And what is it you want to be when you grow up, Mr. Napier?" _

_He looked down at his hands, cupped in his lap. His mind was still swirling with thoughts of before._

"_My… my father wanted me to be a brick layer, like him." He said, quietly. And then he laughed lightly. "He got _so_ mad this one time, when he brought me to work with him. He wanted me to help him lay bricks, but I think I was only five or six at the time and I couldn't even pick the things up." _

_But his humor died quickly, and he shook his head, memories filling his mind, of how his father had taken him home after that and beaten him. He'd been embarrassed by his "weak" son, he said, ashamed of him. He remembered his fathers loud, harsh voice screaming at him, telling him the only way to get the pansy out of him was to beat it out. That he'd make a man out of him yet. _

"_Jack…?" He heard Jeannie say his name, and he looked up, forcing himself to smile._

"_I'll tell you what I _really___want." He said, pushing the negative images from his mind. Suddenly he jumped up, spreading his hands wide. "My name in lights! Right in the heart of Gotham Square! A one night only kind of deal, you know? And people would rush to get their tickets! Because… because I'd be the best thing since… since…" _

_Jeannie was looking up at him, her eyes wide at his sudden enthusiasm. _

_He blinked, looking down at her, and then he sank back on the couch, shrugging. _

"_You know..." He said, his voice quiet. He seemed suddenly embarrassed. _

_Jeannie reached out, brushing her fingers through his hair. "I'll bet if you really try at it, it'll happen some day." She said._

_He looked at her, smiling._

"_You think?"_

"_I do." She encouraged. "It'll happen Jack. I promise. One of these days, you're going to be world famous!" _

_He laughed at that, waving a dismissive hand. _

"_Don't laugh!" Jeannie scolded, playfully hitting him on the arm. "You can do it! You can do anything if you put your mind to it. You're so _talented_ baby. You've just gotta believe in yourself."_

_He _wanted_ to believe that. He wanted to believe he wasn't the loser he'd always been told he was. _

_He wanted to believe that so much._

Maybe_, he thought. Maybe she was right. Maybe everything he dreamed of was possible. _

_God he hoped so._

_He smiled at her then, before suddenly crossing his eyes and pulling a face._

"_If you say so sweetheart!" He said, putting on a mobster accent._

_Jeannie laughed._

"_Jack!"_

"Right this way Ms. Reinking. Gabriele will take you through." She was snapped from the memories by the sound of the security guard in front of her. He'd stopped and was staring at her with expectancy.

She blinked, looking up at him.

"You'll be shown to what we call a "viewing room". You won't actually be _in_ the same room as him. For security purposes, we just can't allow that. You understand, I'm sure."

She gave a weak nod, feeling suddenly nervous.

"They'll be a wall of Plexiglas separating you from him, but you'll be able to see and hear each other, so there shouldn't be any problems with the interview."

Again she gave a nod, one hand gripping tight to the folder she carried, the other wrapping round the strap of her bag.

"Are there any questions before you go in?" The guard asked.

Slowly she shook her head.

This was it. There was no going back now. No escaping what she'd decided she had to do.

She'd secured this meeting by explaining to the asylum's warded that she was the editor of the Gazette, and she had wanted to run a piece in her paper on the Joker. She'd had to promise the man over the phone that the article wouldn't be another smear campaign against the institute, as so many articles on Arkham were. And she'd assured him that wasn't her intent.

No one, of course, had any idea the _real_ reason she was here.

No one but Batman.

"Okay. Right this way then." Gabriele, the other guard, started down the corridor, snapping her from her thoughts, and she followed.

"Does… does he know why he's here?" She asked somewhat timidly as they walked.

Gabriele shook his head.

"No ma'me, we aren't allowed to really provide any details. He knows there's someone who requested to see him, but that's it. He doesn't know who you are or why you're here. It'll be up to you to explain all that."

Again she nodded, continuing on in silence.

A little ways more and suddenly, Gabriele stopped.

"Here we are." He said. "There's a chair for you to sit. All you have to do is talk normally. He can hear you."

Her eyes shifted up from the ground and she felt her heart leap in to her throat, a numbness running down to her fingertips as she took in the sight before her.

There the Joker sat, on the top of a bolted down table. His hair was somewhat long, tumbling over, across his forehead.

His wrists were manacled together, and he wore a soiled looking, orange jumpsuit.

He looked as striking as the first time she'd seen him, in that coffee shop.

She realized, even after having watched all that footage and looking over all those photographs, nothing could actually prepare you for the real thing. For being actually faced with him.

He was surreal looking. Fake. Like he'd been cut out of a painting. Painfully thin and long limbed. He looked almost emaciated to her. Almost… frail.

She supposed his skin added to the impression of… ill-health. It was deathly looking, so pale and without color she could see the veins beneath, and a blue tint permeated the perfect white from below the surface.

His hair was deeply colored, a strange contrast to the rest of him, dark enough that, in anything less then a bright light, you'd have guessed it was black, not green.

His lips weren't the bright red often portrayed in caricature portraits of him, or even in the many photographs she'd gone over. And it occurred to her suddenly that he must wear makeup. Because in truth, his lips were ashen, not pink even, closer to the white of the rest of him, slightly darker, bluish-grey.

He was handsome.

Of course he was.

Jack was handsome.

She found herself overwhelmed, the gravity of it all hitting her, and she became dizzy.

The way he was holding himself, sat atop that table, his head bowed down, looking at his hands as he held them in his lap, his legs dangling over the side, Jesus, she was looking at Jack.

Looking at him just as he'd been, that day when she'd gone to see him at work. To tell him.

Tell him about Rory.

_She stepped in to the warehouse, looking around. There were men walking back and forth, most of them carrying crates or other materials. Some of them were standing around in circles, talking amongst each other, others still were sat at a makeshift table, eating their lunch. _

_Her eyes scanned quickly, looking for Jack amongst the groups, but she couldn't find him._

"_Can I help you?" _

_She jumped slightly at the sound of a voice beside her, turning to find a stout, strong looking man, eyeing her suspiciously. _

"_You shouldn't be in here." The man said. "It's dangerous." _

_She blinked, stepping back slightly from him and clearing her throat._

"_I'm, uh, I'm looking for somebody." She offered._

"_Who's that?" The man asked._

"_My husband." She said, feeling annoyed at the man's crass manner. "Jack Napier." _

_The man hadn't been able to keep the look of shock which washed over his features, his mouth hanging open._

"He's _married to _you_?" He asked, apparently astonished._

_She wanted nothing more in that moment then to slap the buffoon across the face._

"Yes_." She answered. "Can you tell me where to find him?"_

_His eyes ran shamelessly over her body._

"_Napier's on lunch break." He said after a moment. _

_She looked over at the men gathered at the makeshift table, eating. Jack wasn't there._

"_I don't see him." She said, looking back to the man._

_His eyes snapped back up to her face. _

_He smirked._

"_Napier don't eat with the rest of the boys." He said. "He's out back. Through there." He pointed to a door at the other side of the warehouse. "Just walk a little ways to your left, 'till you reach the buildin's corner, then turn right. He should be out back there." _

_She wanted to ask what he meant when he said Jack didn't eat with the rest of the men, but she knew just to look at him he'd give her some smartass remark. And so she simply nodded, mumbling a thank you before turning towards the direction he'd pointed, making her way across the place._

_Half way there and she heard him call out._

"_Hey, toots!" _

_She turned._

"_If ya ever wanna get with a _real_ man…" He gestured obscenely with his hips. "Just ask for Stew. I'll show ya a good time!" _

_She frowned deeply, her eyes narrowing in complete disgust, before abruptly turning on her heel, making her way to the door._

_She heard the idiot's laughter from behind, but just kept walking._

_As she stepped through the door, a rush of cold air hit her face. It was late fall, winter was close, and she frowned, wondering why Jack would be out here at all. It was too cold for that kind of thing._

_She looked either way, noticing the stacked boxes and crates, and the piled up trash. That man had told her to go left until she reached the buildings corner, than turn right. He said Jack would be there._

_So she did, and as she rounded the corner, she saw him, sitting there on top of a crate. _

_He wasn't wearing anything but a thin jacket and those cotton dress pants he seemed to always have on, and she knew he must have been freezing._

_His long legs were dangling over the boxes edge, and he sat hunched forward, one arm wrapped around his waist. He was holding the ham and cheese sandwich she'd made him that morning in his other hand, and he was staring at it, it seemed, his head bowed down. _

_She gazed around and saw there wasn't another soul in sight._

_Her eyes moved back to him, and suddenly she felt her throat tighten, and her heart sink. _

_She realized what this was. Why he was out here._

_She wanted to cry then. _

_Instead she just moved forward, towards him. _

_He didn't seem to notice her at all, and she stopped, maybe five feet back. _

_He wasn't looking at the sandwich. He was just staring slightly ahead, at some indistinct spot on the ground, his eyes blank. _

_His food remained untouched. _

"_Jack?" She said. _

_This startled him and abruptly he looked up. _

_It seemed to take a moment for him to register who he was looking at. _

"_J-Jeannie? W-what are you doing here?" He said, and she could tell from the way his voice shook that he was cold. _

"_Baby, why are you out here?" She asked, stepping forward, ignoring his own question. "It's freezing. You should be inside."_

_He stared at her a moment before suddenly bringing his gaze down, shrugging. _

"_Jack…?" She pushed, reaching out and putting her hand on his shoulder._

_He kept his face turned away from her, not answering. _

"_Jack." She repeated. "Look at me."_

_Some moments past, but finally he did as she asked._

"_Why aren't you eating lunch with the other men?" _

_He exhaled heavily, looking suddenly embarrassed. _

_He didn't want to tell her. He didn't want her to know the truth._

_It was too humiliating. _

_Too pathetic. _

"_Jack, you can _tell_ me baby. It's alright."_

_He hesitated still, his eyes sliding to the side. _

"_They…" He started, and she could feel him tense. _

_She bent forward, trying to catch his eye. To tell him it was okay, whatever it was._

"_They don't really… really want me around." He finally said, refusing to look at her._

_Her expression immediately fell._

"_Oh Jack…" She said, moving forward, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him close. "Baby, are… are you sure? Have you _tried_?"_

_He closed his eyes._

"_I… I tried." He breathed against her ear._

_He felt her wrap her arms tighter. _

"_Oh God, sweetheart…" She said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."_

_He shook his head._

"_It's nothing." He tried to brush it off. "It's okay. I'm alright."_

"_It's not okay." She said. "It's not _right_."_

_He didn't respond to that, just laid against her as she ran her hands up and down his back._

_For the next, few minutes, they stayed that way, until finally she pulled back, looking him in the face._

"_But why are you _out _here Jack?" She began. "It's… it's so cold. You should be inside."_

_God, he couldn't tell her. She'd think he was such a weakling. She'd be disgusted by him. _

_She had to be, because he was disgusted by himself when he thought of it._

_He'd tried eating lunch with the men. He'd tried because… because Jeannie had told him he should socialize, that he should make the attempt. _

_But they'd told him to go away. In their exact words, they'd told him to "fuck off". _

_For a few days after that, he'd simply moved to the other side of the warehouse during break, keeping to himself. _

_But that hadn't been enough for them._

_They'd begun to harass him, calling out to him from across the space, hurling insults at him. He never reacted, keeping his focus on the lunch Jeannie had prepared him. His lack of response angered them, to the point they started coming over, shoving him around. _

"_What's _wrong _with you Napier?" They would ask, jabbing him in the shoulder. "What are you, retarded or something?" _

"… _No." He would answer, shaking his head, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. _

"_No?" They would say. "Well you sure _act_ like you are."_

_Steadily, the harassment grew worse, more frequent, until they were coming up to him every day, trying different things to provoke him._

"_Hey!" One of them had barked, reaching out, slapping him lightly across the face. "_Look_ at me when I'm talkin' to you!" _

_He'd flinched at the contact, only glancing up briefly before looking down again._

"_Are you some kinda fag or something?" The man had asked. "Why you act like that, huh?"_

_He hadn't answered. _

"_What'd I just say?" Again the man smacked him. "Look at me!"_

_And again he flinched, remaining quiet. And the man had shoved him back, against the wall, grabbing the sandwich from his hands and throwing it on the ground._

"_Stupid bitch." He'd spit, pushing Jack's shoulder, his lip curling in disgust when still there was no real reaction. _

_The man had gone off after that, and Jack had stared down at the sandwich Jeannie had made for him, lying on the floor, its contents spilled out._

_For some reason, the sight of that had upset him more then anything else they'd done or said to him._

_It hurt him to see Jeannie's efforts wasted like that._

_And so every day it was he'd started coming out here to eat. _

_They hadn't followed him, hadn't bothered him since then. He supposed the effort had been too much. _

_He hadn't told Jeannie about it. _

_He couldn't._

"_I… I like it out here." He lied, and he knew she could see he was lying. _

_Of course he didn't like it out here. It was cold, and windy and it smelled like garbage. _

_But he couldn't tell her the truth. _

_She looked at him with knowing, about to say something. But he quickly changed the subject._

"_Why are you here?" He asked._

_She sighed, frustrated that he was avoiding the topic. But she knew if she pushed him on it, he would only become more upset. _

_And she didn't want to completely dampen the mood, not when she had such good news to tell him._

"_Jack, I've got something to tell you." She started._

_He looked at her with expectancy. _

"_I went to the doctor today and…"_

_His eyes went slightly wide. _

"_What? Jeannie, why? What's wrong?" His voice had taken on an edge of panic._

"_Nothing." She shook her head. "Nothing's wrong. Jack… I… I'm pregnant." _

_For several seconds, he said nothing, just staring at her, as though he hadn't really heard what she'd said. _

"_Jack?" She asked._

"_You're… you're pregnant?" He finally managed._

_She nodded, unable to keep the smile from her face._

"_Can you believe it?" She asked, enthused. "I thought I might be. I was late with my period, five days and… I was right. I didn't want to tell you until I knew for sure."_

_He didn't say anything, continuing to look at her with wide eyes._

_She looked back, her brow furrowing in concern._

"_Aren't you going to say anything Jack?" She asked. _

_He opened his mouth to speak, but found nothing came out._

"_You… aren't happy." Jeannie said, frowning. She'd been afraid of this._

"_N-no. No!" Jack finally got out. "I-I-I'm happy! I just… I can't… I can't believe it…"_

"_I know it seems sudden." She began. "But I just couldn't wait anymore to tell you." _

"_H-how…" He looked down at her stomach. "How far along are you?" _

_She didn't look pregnant at all. At least, not what he thought you were supposed to look like pregnant. _

"_Only about a month." She said._

_He swallowed. _

"_Wow…" He breathed. "I… I can't believe it."_

_He really couldn't. It seemed surreal to him. Like some kind of dream._

_He couldn't really fathom it, having a child. _

"_This is it Jack." Jeannie said. "This is for real!"_

_He brought his eyes to her face, a hesitant smile forming on his lips._

_When she saw it, she started to smile back._

"_We're going to have a baby together?" He asked, still unable to wrap his mind around it. _

_She just nodded, her smile widening. _

_He placed his sandwich down, turning back to her and taking her hands in his. _

"_This is real?" _

_Again she nodded._

_God, it was scary, he thought. But he wasn't about to tell her that. He wasn't going to be weak in front of her, especially now, when she needed him to be strong._

_He stood up, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her in to the air, spinning her around. _

"_WE'RE GOING TO HAVE A BABY!" He yelled, and now there was true joy in his voice._

_She laughed as he spun her, relieved at his reaction._

_Things were going to be okay. _

_They were._

_She just knew it._

/

**First, I just have to say THANK YOU to all of my reviewers and readers from the last chapter. You guys really are great, and just know I appreciate every single review I get.**

**So, she finally comes face to face with the Joker, and the Joker with her. Since this chapter was already so long though, I had to put off any interaction until the next one. But I promise, that's coming next. I think it'll be interesting to see how the Joker responds to her. I hope you guys think so too.**

**Let me know what you think, how you think he'll react, etc…**

**And please review guys!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Once more, thanks goes out to my beta TheMadCapLaughs for all her help with this chapter. Hope you guys enjoy!**

**Chapter 11:**

Gabriele left her to herself, per her own request.

"When you're done…" He said, "Just come back out the way you came in. We'll handle the rest."

She'd nodded, and watched him leave, before turning back to the window.

The Joker hadn't moved at all, continuing to just sit there, on that desk, staring down in to his lap.

Jeannie moved to the chair they'd provided, watching him carefully. He seemed almost frozen, like a statue. She couldn't even really tell if he was breathing.

Carefully she sat, still looking ahead, placing her bag beside her, keeping the folder in her lap.

How the hell was she going to start this? What was she going to _say_?

She cleared her throat, looking away finally.

"Hello." She said, not knowing how else to greet him.

He didn't answer her.

She glanced up.

He hadn't even _moved_.

She felt suddenly overwhelmed, afraid that this was going to be hopeless, that she wasn't going to get anywhere.

The closer she looked at him, the more she couldn't believe she hadn't ever before noticed it. This was _Jack_ sitting in front of her. It was _him_. There was no difference excepting the skin and hair. Everything else was the same, everything about his body, his face. His _hands_, she noticed. Those were Jack's hands. Long and thin, with wide palms. She remembered his hands holding her, touching her, caressing her.

She remembered how loving he had been towards her, how gentle.

She couldn't believe those same hands had murdered people.

She swallowed thickly, trying to compose herself, trying to think of what next she should say.

He looked somehow forlorn to her, just sitting there; he looked sad. The way Jack had so often looked.

This was almost too much.

"They haven't told you who I am." She finally began. "I'm supposed to be here for an interview."

Still, he remained unmoving.

She began to worry the whole meeting would be this way. That there would be nothing to be gotten from it.

"I'm not… I'm not actually here to interview you." She said, glancing down.

When she looked back up, her heart immediately leapt in to her throat. Finally he'd shifted, and now he was staring straight at her.

Jesus, he was terrifying looking.

His _eyes_… they were _Jack's_ eyes, that same, pale green, but there was none of the kindness she remembered, none of the warmth. Instead they were empty, cold… cruel.

She almost had to look away, almost overcome by the pain of her realization, that _this_ is what had become of the man she loved. That all the good in him, and there had been _so_ much, so much good, it had all been driven out, destroyed by people's cruelty, by the tragedy of his _life_.

He was smiling at her, and there too, any resemblance to her husband was gone.

The Joker's smile stretched back and tight, all the way up his cheeks, seeming almost to split his face in two, his lips curling back to reveal his gums. There was nothing friendly in that smile, nothing warm.

Not like Jack's. Jack's, who's smile had been so beautiful in its timidity, in its shyness and reservation. He'd had that cautious optimism, he'd had hope, however fragile it might have been.

The Joker had none of that. He had only meanness. His smile reflected the cynicism of the world, the brutality of it.

He smiled from malicious glee, from joy derived in others misery.

Jack had smiled from love, and only love. From the promise of love shared between them.

Somehow she maintained eye contact, trying to remind herself to breathe.

She wondered if he at all recognized her. She couldn't read his expression. She had no idea what he was thinking.

She felt scared.

For a moment, she thought maybe he would say something, but he didn't. He just kept sitting there, staring at her, grinning.

"Do… do you recognize me?" She dared to ask.

Suddenly he moved, cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brow, the smile going from his face, replaced by a deep frown.

His eyes narrowed, as though he were trying to discern her. It was exaggerated, obviously meant as some kind of joke.

"Hmmm…" He started. "Recognize, recognize… I recognize your _intention_."

She stared back at him, saying nothing.

"My… my intention?" She began after a moment.

"Oh darling, I can see that _desperation_ in your eyes. That turmoil. There's a _conflict _brewing in that heart of yours, hmm? And you've come here _because_… what, you've somehow convinced yourself of my ability to calm it?" He chuckled lowly. "That's most amusing. You see, people usually consider me the _cause_ of that kind of thing."

She sat, feeling frozen in place. She'd read about this. Read about his uncanny ability to see a person's true intention the moment he laid eyes on them, to see through whatever walls they might have had up, whatever blocks. He was frighteningly insightful, according to those who'd spoken with him. Those who hadn't been somehow damaged by the experience claimed they felt completely naked in front of him, completely vulnerable.

Jack had always had so much difficulty with just that kind of thing. He was ridiculously intelligent, but he had trouble with emotion. Everything to him had always been very linear, very straight forward and scientific. With her, he'd been able to pick up on different signals, pick up on what she meant when she implied it, rather then said it outright. But around everyone else, he never knew what they were talking about unless they explained it in literal terms. He had to be told precisely what they meant in order to understand. He wasn't able to determine anything from body language or tone of voice.

That was partially why he'd always gotten in so much trouble. If someone was angry at him, or being hostile towards him, he didn't realize it unless they told him, specifically, that they were.

People either ended up thinking he was mentally retarded because of it, and trying to avoid him, or they thought he was purposefully being an asshole, a smartass, purposefully trying to disrespect them, and then they'd get angry. And that's when they'd hurt him, beat him up.

They didn't understand his condition.

Jeannie realized now, years later, that even she hadn't really understood.

Jack had suffered from a kind of autism, though specifically what type, she didn't know. He'd never been diagnosed, but in retrospect, it was obvious that that was what the problem had been. It had taken Batman theorizing it for it to occur to her, and of that she felt somewhat ashamed.

Everyone had just regarded him as "strange" or "eccentric". No one realized that he was suffering an actual mental condition, one which should have been specifically addressed.

His father certainly hadn't ever cared enough to try and find out what was wrong with him.

No one had bothered _helping_ him.

And Jack had paid the price for that.

So her mind struggled with the reality that the man before her, the Joker, was in fact her husband.

Batman had explained to her the theory which his doctors, and Batman himself, had developed about him, the idea he possessed a kind of super-perceptive ability, a hyper-awareness of sorts. They called it "Super-Sanity". An ability to see, for lack of a better word, the _truth_ of everything. To see past whatever pretense there might be, past any false or misleading layers, to the core of a thing, to the essence of it. What it actually was, as opposed to what it presented itself to be. People and situations included. They thought it must have developed after he'd fallen in to that vat of chemical waste, that the ability had always _been_ there in him, lying dormant, and that the chemical interaction must have somehow triggered it, brought it to fruition.

But it was hard for her to grasp the concept.

To accept that Jack had so radically changed, changed to such an extreme degree, that the depth with which he could perceive another person's thoughts and emotions had grown to almost super-human proportions, whereas before it had been practically non-existent.

So difficult had the concept been for her to wrap her mind around, that for a short period, after viewing the interview footage of him, Jeannie had begun to doubt her entire relationship with Jack. She'd begun to fear that perhaps, the whole time, he's been playing her for a fool.

She thought back to how awkward he'd been around people, how uncomfortable and shy, and she wondered if maybe it hadn't been because of a condition at all, but because he held such strong contempt for them, such strong hatred.

Maybe it wasn't because of an inability to perceive nuances in body language and tone, or subtlety in implications, but because he was a sociopath, because he wasn't at all able to relate to human emotion, wasn't able to feel any kind of sympathy or empathy, any kind of compassion.

But while, for a time, she'd struggled with this fear, with her own uncertainty of who Jack had been, she'd eventually come to the solid conclusion that it was impossible for what she'd had with him to be anything but real. She'd known Jack since he was nine years old, since he was just a boy. She'd known _him_. Better then anyone.

Since that first day, when she'd gone up to him in class, asking for his help on a mathematical equation, since that day, they'd spent every moment they could together.

"_Hi there!"_

_He looked up to find probably the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, staring him in the face, smiling wide._

_He thought maybe it was some kind of mistake, that maybe she was addressing someone else, and he looked around to see who it could be. He didn't see anyone, but still he knew it couldn't be him, so he put his head back down and resumed his work._

"_Hey!" The girl said. "Didn't you hear me?" _

_Again he looked up, blinking._

"_A-are you talking to… to me?" He asked, his voice so quiet she almost didn't catch him._

"_Yeah silly!" She said, her voice cheerful. "Who else would I be talking to?"_

_He didn't say anything to that, just continuing to stare at her with a confused expression._

"_Hey, listen…" She began. "I notice how you're always getting straight A's on all these tests. I was wondering if you could maybe help me here." She hauled her textbook on to his table, laying down a sheet of paper with a bunch of scribbled equations on it. "I'm _totally_ lost."_

_Still he only stared at her._

"_Uh, _hello_?" She waved a hand in front of his face. _

_He blinked finally, looking down at the textbook and paper. _

_He could see instantly what she was doing wrong._

_Without saying anything, he started erasing her work, and writing in his own, not bothering to explain what he was doing._

"_Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a second there Einstein." She stopped him, putting her hand on his wrist. He looked up at her, that same look of confusion on his face. "You've gotta _explain_ to me what you're doing. Otherwise I'm not gonna understand."_

"_Explain?" He questioned._

"_Yeah, you know, _show_ me what you're doing so I can do it too!"_

_Again he blinked._

"_Oh." He said, looking back down at the paper. _

"_I-it's… it's really pretty simple." He turned the sheet around so that it was facing her, and proceeded to explain what to do to arrive at the correct answer._

That was how their relationship had begun. Whenever she had a problem she couldn't work out, she would ask for his help. She remembered he'd been an amazing teacher. He was somehow able to translate what he was doing in to very basic terminology so that she could follow and understand, and he was incredibly patient. Whenever she would mess up, he wouldn't ever become annoyed, or reprimand her. He would just shake his head and say, "No, like this." And go on to show her exactly what she'd done wrong and how to fix it.

That was how she'd come to know how smart he was. He excelled in every subject, except Phys Ed.

He'd gotten in to Cherry Heights Middle School on a scholarship program. She recalled being astounded when she found out he had to commute every morning by subway train, all the way from the Narrows, which was where he lived with his father. Most children his age were just starting in the third grade, but he was going to school with sixth, seventh and eighth graders, taking mostly eight grade courses. He was younger then everyone else there, and thus, smaller. So it was during gym class he would often get pushed around. The teacher wasn't at all forgiving either, or supportive, letting the other kids knock him about during games of basketball or soccer, or whatever else they played.

The children were resentful of him because he was so smart, Jeannie remembered.

She'd watched him grow, watched his struggle to fit in. He'd _always _been shy, always been withdrawn and quiet. And while, as a child, people had put it off to his just being a "cute kid", by high school, they'd started to view it as something bizarre, something wrong and pathetic and repulsive.

It had been so painful to watch.

Jack had _tried_. That was the thing. He'd done his best to fit in, to be accepted and liked.

He was tragically sweet. The nicest boy she'd ever known. Too nice for his own good. Because the bullies at school would take advantage of that. Take advantage of his naiveté.

They would act as his friends for a time, as though they truly liked him, wanted to be around him. And he would fall for it, every time. Because he couldn't tell when they were lying. He wasn't able to discern it. And he'd wanted friends so badly. He'd _wanted _to believe them.

They would lead him on, manipulate him until he was in a position to be humiliated. And that's when they would betray him, when they would make him the target of some elaborate prank, or just something simple, like shoving him in to a pile of mud in front of a group of students, or trying to introduce him to some pretty girl, who would react to him with disgust. They would laugh, and he'd be left standing there, confused, not understanding what had just happened. And they'd only laugh harder.

They all knew Jeannie was his only friend, that she was a protector of sorts to him, and so they'd make sure only to approach him when she wasn't around, when she wasn't there to help him see what it was they were doing.

It had been easy because, in high school, they'd largely had separate classes from one another. He was taking advanced courses, four grades above other kids his age, two grades above where she was.

He never talked about it. Never mentioned it to her. She suspected maybe it was because he hadn't really understood, didn't know what it was that the other students were doing.

She'd discovered what was happening one day, purely by coincidence. As she was coming back from her lunch break, she'd cut across the schools back field, and there had been a raucous, whipped up crowd of students, a throng of them, gathered round, yelling and hollering towards something at their center.

She'd fought her way through them, pushing forward to see what it was that had them so excited. When she'd finally seen, she remembered feeling her heart drop, her hands clenching to fists in a sudden and almost blinding rage.

Jack had been standing there, covered in mud. She remembered how confused he'd look, not scared, just confused. And then a boy roughly twice his size had stepped from the crowd and shoved him down, in to the dirt. And everyone had exploded in laughter.

"Get up Napier!" Someone had shouted.

When he was too slow to comply, another boy had reached down and pulled him to his feet, a moment later yet another coming in and once more pushing him down.

Jeannie had stepped in at that point, going to him and picking him up.

He'd looked at her with wide eyes, she recalled, like he didn't at all know what was happening, or why she was there.

She'd held him close to her, wrapping an arm over his shoulders, the other cradling his head. He was shorter then her still, not yet having hit his growth spurt.

She'd looked around at the other students, revulsion in her eyes.

"What the hell is _wrong_ with all of you?" She'd spit, but they'd only looked at her like they didn't know what she was talking about.

She didn't wait for an answer then, holding tight to Jack and pushing past them, out of the crowd.

She'd taken him back to her house after that, not really caring if they missed the rest of their classes. He hadn't spoken a word to her on the way there.

When they'd finally reached it, she'd ordered him to take a shower. He'd done as she said, and she'd taken his clothes and put them in the wash.

Only afterwards had she asked him what had happened, after he'd been cleaned up and dressed.

He'd explained that two boys, boys she knew by the name of Roger and Zachary, had told him they wanted him to play a game with them, out on the back field. He'd asked them what kind of game, and all they'd said back was that it was a game he would "like".

He'd believed them, and when they'd gotten him to the field, there was already a group of students, waiting.

The "game" had consisted of those students taking turns, shoving him in to the dirt of the rain slicked grass, over and over. They kept telling him that was the game, that the object was for him to see how quickly he could get up from their shoves. He hadn't understood, but he also hadn't realized they were playing him for a fool, and so just stood there, letting them push him to the ground, again and again, until Jeannie had come and taken him away.

"Oh God, Jack, they… they _tricked_ you honey." She remembered saying to him.

He'd just looked at her, unsure of what she meant.

"They _lied_ to you Jack." She'd explained. "They were using you to amuse themselves."

She remembered his wide eyed stare, before he'd looked down at his hands, mumbling.

"But… Roger and Zach, they've been nice to me. They're my friends. They told me they were."

"Oh sweetie…" She'd said, leaning forward and pulling him in to a hug. "They were just _pretending_ to be nice. They aren't your friends. They're just a bunch of bullies."

Though she'd told him he had to stop taking people at their word alone, that he had to stop believing them at face value, the problem for Jack had persisted. He continued to fall victim to the other students pranks and jokes, because he just wasn't able to make the differentiation, to make the distinction between a lie and the truth.

Jeannie of course had been more cognizant of the trouble then, and would intervene when she could. She tried to protect him, but it was hard, because they couldn't _always_ be together.

The point was, Jack had been a _genuinely_ good person. She _knew_ that. His trouble with people hadn't been the result of sociopathic tendencies, but because he simply lacked the ability to recognize any sort of behavioral nuance.

She knew then it could only have been the reaction to the chemical exposure which had transformed him in to what she now sat before, in to this hyper-sensitive, hyper-perceptive being. It was hard for her to rationalize that the ability had always been in him, that it had only been lying dormant. But it was the only logical explanation for how he'd changed so completely in that regard. Something like that wasn't created out of thin air.

And yet, looking at the Joker, she wondered if perhaps he didn't still suffer from some of the same things he had before. Jack had been detached in many ways, unable to recognize the consequences of his actions, unable to see the effects of them on other people. She thought the Joker, despite his claim to the contrary, must be dealing with an at least similar issue, an inability to really understand the gravity of the things he did, to grasp just how much of an impact he was having. They'd declared him legally insane, after all, and Jeannie knew that, in order to attain such status, one had to be determined mentally incompetent to stand trial, meaning it was recognized that they couldn't, in fact, understand or grasp the consequences of their actions, that they weren't able to tell right from wrong.

Jack had never been violent. He'd never had any kind of inclination towards deviant behavior. But often, she'd had to explain to him in the most basic and straight forward language she could, how he was expected to act in public, what he should and shouldn't do. So on and so forth.

She most certainly could see shades of that in the Joker, the only difference being, the Joker's improper behavior wasn't harmless or innocent, as Jack's had been, no, it was dangerous, violent and unpredictable.

She didn't know where he'd gotten that from. How he'd been steered towards those kinds of inclinations. She'd never seen even the slightest hint of it when they'd been together. None at all.

She supposed the fall in to the chemicals might have caused it, might have so messed with the balances in his brain that he just came out with homicidal tendencies.

But she wondered too if it hadn't been a result, at least in part, of the treatment he'd received at the hands of his father. That maybe he retained some kind of memory of it, some kind of impression, which, after the accident, had come to the forefront of his mind, and he'd fallen under the idea that that was the way things were, the way things would always be. Brutal and vicious and uncaring.

Jack had been raised in violence.

And though he'd never really talked to her about what happened to him at home, she had a pretty damn good idea.

He used to come to school covered in bruises, his eyes often blackened, his lip swollen. More then a few times, he'd shown up with broken bones, a broken wrist, or hand, or arm even. Even a few times he'd shown up with a broken nose.

She knew of only one time one of their teachers had called Social Services, to investigate what was going on.

After that, Jack had been gone from school for over a month.

By the time he came back, there were bruises fading along his face and arms, and she was sure his entire body.

He would tell her years later that his Dad had been angry about having social workers drop by unannounced, that he'd blamed Jack for it and proceeded to beat him so badly he wound up having to be hospitalized.

And that continued to happen periodically through the years. Jack would disappear for three, four, five weeks at a time, and eventually come back, the remnants of whatever had happened fading on his skin.

Jack was scared of his father.

Jeannie thought he was the only person she'd ever seen Jack show fear towards.

She'd understood that fear better after the first time she'd laid eyes on the man.

He'd come in to their school one day, to take Jack out early, for what reason, she never knew. Jack had never told her.

But she remembered shrinking back in her seat when he'd walked in to their classroom, asking for his "boy".

He was the most massive man she'd ever seen. And the meanest looking. He had ridiculously broad shoulders, and a huge, wide chest. His arms looked like they were made out of concrete or some similarly hard substance, and he had giant meat hooks for hands. He was toweringly tall, 6'5" or 6'6". He looked like he must have weighed 250 lb. or there about and there wasn't an ounce of fat to be seen on his frame.

She remembered looking over at Jack, sat next to her in class, and seeing the look of terror on his face as he gazed upon his own father.

"_So, what's the answer?" Ms. Stanton asked, looking about. "Can anyone tell me?" _

_Not a single hand had risen._

_Jeannie leaned over._

"_Jack…" She whispered. "I _know_ you know the answer."_

"_I don't wanna answer." He said, trying to shoo her away._

"_Come on Jack. Don't be shy. Think of how impressed everyone'll be!"_

_He shook his head, sinking lower in to his chair. _

"_Ms. Reinking, Mr. Napier!" Ms. Stanton noticed them talking. "Care to tell us what it is you two are talking about?" _

_The other students began to giggle._

_Jeannie turned towards the teacher, clearing her throat. _

"_Uh, Jack knows the answer to your question Ms. Stanton." She said with confidence._

_Jack turned towards her, wide eyed._

"_J-Jeannie!" He hissed under his breath._

_Ms. Stanton smiled._

"_Does he now?" She said, looking straight at him. _

_Jack looked absolutely mortified as all eyes on the class fell to him. _

"_Well?" The teacher pushed._

"… _P-point 32." He muttered. _

_Ms. Stanton's eyebrows shot up._

"_Very _good_ Jack." She said. "That's correct." _

_Jeannie turned towards him, giving him a little push on the shoulder._

"_See?" She said. "I told you you could do it!"_

_Jack just folded his arms and turned his eyes to his desk._

_The teacher was about to begin another lesson when the room's door swung open and a man stepped inside. A mountain of a man. Everyone's eyes had gone wide at the sight of him._

"_Uh… can I help you?" Ms. Stanton asked, looking up at him._

"_I'm here for my boy." He said, his voice matching his appearance, deep and booming._

_Jack's eyes had immediately flicked up at the sound of his father's voice, and he'd instantly felt his body tense, his hands clenching in to fists. _

"_Geeze, would you look at that guy?" Jeannie had leaned in to him, whispering. _

_Jack swallowed, not answering, and she'd glanced over at him then, noticing the fear in his eyes._

"_Jack?" She asked._

_Ms. Stanton cleared her throat._

"_Oh?" She began. "And which is yours?" _

_The man turned towards the class, his eyes scanning over the different faces of the students, quickly locating his son and pinning him with his gaze._

_He pointed to him._

"_Jack!" He barked. "Get up here boy!" _

_Jeannie watched him flinch noticeably at the command, sinking down in to his chair before quickly sliding out of it, not hesitating to obey his father's command. _

_He gathered up his backpack and books before walking to the front of the classroom, his head down._

_As soon as he was within distance, the man reached out, taking hold of Jack's skinny arm and jerking him forward. _

_He didn't bother to explain himself or address Ms. Stratton again as he pulled the boy behind him, out of the room._

Jeannie hadn't seen Jack back in class for the next four days. When he finally did return, she'd asked him what had happened, where he'd been, and he'd only shrugged, saying something about his father wanting him at home, not really explaining further what that meant. It didn't however escape her notice how stiffly he walked for close to the next week, and she knew that giant man had hurt him in some way physical.

She breathed out, trying to compose herself, to think rationally and not panic.

She had to remind herself of why she was here. To see how much of the man she had known and loved remained, if any of him remained at all. If only to get some closure.

"You're right." She nodded. "I'm not sure how much you remember, but…" She looked down, fingering the folder in her lap. "We once knew each other. We were actually quite close."

She dared to look up at him, and was somewhat dismayed to see him looking distractedly at his fingernails, an expression of pure boredom lining his features.

"Is that so?" He asked, not bothering to look at her.

She didn't think he recognized her now.

Batman had explained that the Joker's memory was shoddy at best. He suffered severe amnesia. What little memory he had left of his life before was likely fragmented and broken in his mind. It probably made little if any sense to him at all. So while he might have recognized her face one day, the very next, it was probable he wouldn't recognize her at all.

She was nearly sure that was the case now.

She didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

She supposed she was about to find out.

Slowly she nodded.

"Y-yes." She began, her voice hushed.

She breathed deep. She didn't think there was any point in delaying this. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. She realized there was really no way of preparing. She was just going to have to deal with it as it unfolded, whatever it was.

Slowly she exhaled, swallowing hard.

"I'm your wife." She said, and her voice shook with the admission.

She watched as his movements ceased, and for some seconds, he kept his eyes trained on his nails, completely still, before his gaze slid up, to her face.

He regarded her with some seriousness, his expression pensive, and she thought she might pass out from how much he resembled Jack in that moment. No, not resembled. He _was_ Jack. God, how was she going to wrap her mind around that fact?

Suddenly his mouth pulled in to a wide grin and laughter burst forth from his lips. He doubled over, his arms wrapping round his waist as his hysterics grew.

Jeannie frowned.

Like the smile, the laughter wasn't at all like Jack's had been either, for all the same reasons. This laughter was cruel, mocking; abrasive to the ears. Jack's had been soft and pleasant, it had been warm.

"Ohh, ho, ho." The Joker finally managed, still bent over. "That's… that's a _good_ one!" He looked up at her, wiping at the tears now streaming down his cheeks. His eyes narrowed. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be one of those Harley Quinn wannabe's, now would you? I can't begin to tell you how many letters I receive from those girls, all claiming to be the new and improved HQ."

She looked back at him, her face serious as she shook her head no.

He shrugged.

"Well, that's terrific." He said. "Because if you _were_, I think I might have to break out of here and kill you."

Her eyes went wide, her heart rate quickening and her limbs going numb.

"One Harley's enough, you know?" He continued, seeming either not to notice, or to care, at her now frightened expression. "The girl's incredibly obnoxious, even at the best of times."

Jeannie brought her hand to her hair, smoothing it back behind her ear, trying not to shake.

He seemed completely mad to her. But this was what he did, she tried to remember. Everything he said, it was said with the intent of making you uncomfortable. It was likely he wasn't at all being honest, being himself, whatever self that was. Maybe there wasn't any one personality anymore, maybe he didn't _have_ a true personality.

Still, she didn't know why she'd expected anything but his laughter. It had been ridiculous to think he was just going to accept her telling him she was his wife.

She was going to have to prove it to him, and then see what his reaction was.

Slowly she exhaled, not even realizing she'd been holding her breath.

"You don't believe me." She said. "And that's fine. But I'm telling you the truth. I can prove to you who I am."

The Joker smiled warmly at her, and again she felt as though she might pass out. She didn't think he _could _smile like that anymore, that he could smile like Jack still. She'd thought all he was capable of was that grotesque grin, leering at you, promising you all manner of horror.

But now his lips were together and turned inward, the smile subtle. He looked sweet, like she remembered Jack looking, the expression betrayed only by his eyes, glinting with mockery.

"My dear girl…" He began. "I can see you've convinced yourself of this particular delusion. That you really believe it to be _true_." He continued to smile gently. "It would be almost sweet, if it weren't so terribly pathetic. It's funny. They've got me locked up in here, and yet, there you are, clearly not operating in any sort of reality, but free to move about as you please. The absurdity of it is _almost _too much to bear."

She stared at him, unmoving.

He leaned slightly forward.

"Poor thing." He said. "I can't stand to see you like this. Believing in pure fantasy. It's one thing if it was I who instilled it, it's quite another if I had nothing to do with it at all. At least, not directly. I won't deny my charm and sophistication have sometimes far reaching impact. But I assure you love, you aren't my wife."

Again she found herself playing with the folder in her lap.

Christ, he was good. She'd never spoken with anyone who sounded so sure of themselves. Like he knew something more than you. He'd have convinced her of his claims, if she didn't already know for a fact he was wrong.

"Don't you recognize me?" She started, trying to dismiss how his own confidence made her feel uncomfortable. "From the coffee shop?"

"The coffee shop?" He questioned, tilting his head to the side.

"You knew me then." She continued. "You knew my name."

He smiled wide.

"And what _is_ your name, might I ask? Such a lovely woman, I should most certainly like to make your acquaintance."

She hesitated only a moment.

"Jeanette… Reinking."

She waited for some flicker of recognition, for some sign that he recalled the name.

But he just kept smiling.

"It suits you, I think." He said, nodding. "Yes, I most definitely think it does."

She licked her lips.

"You used to call me Jeannie."

And there it was, if only for the briefest of moments, the smile faltered. A second later and he'd covered the lapse. But she'd caught it. She'd seen it, clear as day.

"Jeannie?" He said, his voice taking on a tone of confusion.

She knew he recognized it though. She _knew_ he did. Even if he didn't know from where.

"Yes." She answered. "You were the only person who ever called me by that name. No one else did. Only you."

He kept the grin plastered to his face.

But then he looked away, suddenly, as though on reflex, like someone had just shined a too bright light in his eyes.

He laughed lowly.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl." He mumbled.

He seemed suddenly distracted.

"Don't you recognize me?" She asked again. "Would you recognize your own name if I said it?"

"Name?" He said, still looking away. "I have many names. But it's the Joker most call me."

She breathed in deep. She had no idea how he was going to react to this, but she sensed she was getting somewhere, and she wasn't about to stop.

"Jack." She said. "Your real name is Jack Napier. You were married to me, still _are_ married to me, by legal definition anyway."

Again he chuckled softly, but still he wouldn't look at her, his eyes beginning instead to scan the confines of his space.

"Jack?" He said. "What a silly name. So plain. So very boring. There isn't any flair to it. No pizzazz."

"Jack…" She said.

But he only shook his head, still grinning, still gazing away.

"Jack." She again started. "Look at me."

And he did.

He looked at her.

Like all those times before, when she'd ordered it, when she'd had to meet his eyes, so that he could calm down, so that he wouldn't panic.

When he was so very much like a child.

She realized then he still was.

That there was a part of him, however small, which was still as she'd known him then.

And suddenly it wasn't just about closure anymore. Suddenly it was something more. Something greater, more urgent.

Oh Christ, she realized she had to save him.

She _had_ to.

No one else would. No one else _could_.

He was trapped, and there had been no one for him. All these years, no one to help, no one to pull him from the vortex of his own mind.

"Jack… b…baby…" She said. "It's me. Jeannie." She dared to press a hand against the Plexiglas. "You know me, don't you? You know me."

He stared at her, hard. He wasn't smiling anymore.

Slowly he shook his head.

"I don't know you." He spoke softly.

She could feel the tears stinging at the back of her eyes, and she pushed them back, sliding her hand away from the window and looking down at the folder.

Slowly she opened it, and was met with a stack of documents and photographs.

She grasped one of the pictures between her fingers, bringing it up.

"This… this is us." She said, and she held it up for him to see.

It was a picture of the two of them, his arm around her shoulders, her hands grasping it as it came around her front. They were smiling at the camera. They looked happy.

The Joker's eyes flicked down to it, focused and intense as he took in the image, not moving.

And then he looked back up to her.

"That isn't me." He said, his voice suddenly flat, without emotion.

"It _is_ you Jack!" She pushed. "For Christ's sake, _look_ at it. Look at _you_! It's your _face_."

"My dear girl, you are _mistaken,_" the Joker answered, a wry smile forming on his lips. His eyes moved back to the photograph. "Such a sorry looking fellow," he said, taking in the image. "Camera shy." He gazed back up at her.

"If you know a thing about me, you know I don't suffer _any_ such anxiety. I simply _adore_ having my picture taken. With a face as beautiful as mine, of course, one certainly can't fault me for that." He looked back at the picture, shaking his head.

"No. _That_ young man, I'm afraid, is the suffering kind; unable to cope with the harsh reality of what surrounds him. Let me guess… he has the most _difficult _time interacting with others, hmm?"

Jeannie stared back at him for a long moment. She could feel her throat tighten, a heavy weight settling inside her chest, and looked down. .

"He used to…" she replied, her heart sinking at how accurately he had just described himself as he once was, and without even realizing it.

She wondered if it was merely his hyper-perception, or if maybe he retained some conscious memory of his past.

The Joker's brows shot up.

"Oh, expired then, has he?"

She looked back up at him.

"_Some_ might say he has."

The Joker grinned at this.

"Well either you _have_ or you have _not_, my sweet. One cannot have it both ways."

Jeannie shook her head.

"No," she said. "You can't… If you count yourself as still among the living, then the man in this photograph is still alive."

The Joker leaned back now, regarding her with pitying eyes.

"How insistent you are!" he exclaimed. "I believe you might fit in like a dream, here in Arkham. And since Arkham is my home, my 'des-res', my _personal _retreat, you may consider that an invitation. You're welcome any time."

Jeannie looked down to the folder in her lap, rifling through the various contents, until she found another photograph. She picked it out and held it up.

"That's you too," she said.

It was an image of the Joker; one of the few she'd been able to find where he wasn't grinning from ear to ear. It had been taken after he had been apprehended by Batman, then left to the police at Central Holding. Someone had snapped a picture of him in his cell. He wasn't looking directly at the camera but off to the side, his expression one Jeannie remembered seeing on Jack; lost in his own thoughts, oblivious to the world around him.

The Joker looked and nodded in agreement.

"There's only one man who could look that good," he said, grinning.

God, how _much_ had he changed. Jack had never spoken about himself with such confidence or high esteem. "Don't you _see?_" Jeannie implored, holding up both pictures. "The features are _exactly _the same. Both of these men are the same _person_. They're both _you_."

The Joker shook his head, looking away.

"Look." Jeannie said, insistently, as she pulled another picture from the folder.

Batman had helped her with this one. A photo of Jack, edited with an advanced Photoshop program; his skin lightened to the Joker's exact tone, his hair shaded green. There was no mistaking their likeness.

"This is _you._ This is _Jack._ What he would look like with bleached skin and green hair. It looks _exactly_ like you do now. Younger, of course. But …"

The Joker glanced in her direction, and once more the smile had gone from his face.

He looked mildly agitated now.

"This exchange grows _tiresome,_" he muttered, voice bereft of its previous airy tone. "I'd like you to leave."

The warning in his voice might have deterred anyone else, but it only made Jeannie's resolve harden. She was going to go through with this, no matter what.

"I know you aren't blind," she pressed. "I know you see it."

The Joker got to his feet and moved towards the window. Reflexively, Jeannie leant back in her chair. She knew how dangerous this man was. How he could slice through that Plexiglas as if it were tissue, given an opportunity and a suitable tool. His stance was threatening; the way he held himself meant clearly to intimidate. But Jack had never stood like that. He'd always been sort of withdrawn, curling in on himself.

"Clearly, then…" the Joker continued, pausing for breath. "You've taken a picture of me and superimposed yourself into the shot, all while altering my own defining features to look like any other man's."

Jeannie shook her head.

"You said the picture wasn't of you at all. You said it couldn't be because you would never look so uncomfortable in front of a camera. What's more, this picture…" She held the photo of her and Jack up. "_This_ was taken in 1994. The date was printed on the back, see? At the developer's." She turned the picture around for him to see. "There was no such thing as Photoshop back then; nothing so advanced, anyway."

The Joker only glanced briefly at the date before turning suddenly from the window, moving away.

This woman had come prepared, somehow putting together these ridiculous images. She must be some kind of professional forger, he thought. He'd had dealings with people like this before. It came with the territory of celebrity, didn't it? He'd received marriage proposals from many a deluded dame, just like this one. Why she was insisting he believe her grandiose fantasies, he had no idea. And he didn't care. She wasn't the first, and she sure as hell wouldn't be the last. She was starting to anger him.

"And if that isn't enough for you…"

He looked back at her, suddenly, wondering what the hell it was about her voice that prompted his instinctive response. He watched her take a laptop from her bag and switch it on.

"Here…" she said, spinning the monitor around so that it was facing him. There was a video of Jack, talking to the camera, responding to questions asked by her. _Her _voice. It was unquestionably hers, albeit younger, perkier, less weary.

"We did a voice comparison analysis…"

"_We_?" the Joker questioned, his eyes narrowing. "Ah, the good old royal 'we'. So who, pray tell, is "we?"

He'd had just about enough of this woman and her ridiculous fantasies. He was going to have to teach her a lesson she wouldn't forget – or wouldn't live to forget – if she kept it up for much longer.

"Me and Batman…" Jeannie answered, without really thinking.

Immediately the Joker turned fully towards her, stepping quick to the window.

"_What_?"

His voice was almost a whisper, filled with fury.

Jeannie leaned back, afraid.

"M… me and Batman," she repeated, hesitantly. "We did a voice analysis… See?"

She clicked an icon, and another window popped up, this one featuring a split screen, one with Jack, one with the Joker. The clip to the left began to play, and then the other after that. A moment later, the words "positive match" appeared over the screen.

"It's… it's a positive match. Do you see? You're Jack Napier… You're… you're my husband."

The Joker stared at the computer screen for several seconds, completely still.

Jeannie found herself holding her breathe, both anticipating and dreading his reaction.

She had no idea what he was going to do, to say.

Finally, after what seemed forever, he straightened and turned so that his back was half towards her.

"You're not my type, sweetheart," he said softly, over his shoulder "I think you should leave now."

She blinked, her mind processing his words. And then she swallowed thickly, placing the laptop on the floor carefully.

"Listen…" she began. "I know that this is probably confusing to you and that maybe you don't remember any of this, that you maybe don't remember me, but… but you and I… we… we loved each other once. Very much."

She had to look down then, feeling her throat constrict at the words, tears stinging at the back of her eyes.

She had known this would be painful, that it would hurt to see him again after realizing who he was.

She just hadn't realized how much.

Seeing him now, cuffed and restrained, able only to observe him from behind a glass wall, like some kind of caged animal… unable to touch him, to hold him… her heart broke for him… for the tragedy of him.

Silence filled the space between them, and her eyes shifted back up.

The Joker was only standing there, still facing away from her, his head bowed, shaking.

He could feel his eyes close, and with the darkness which consumed his vision, there he saw her.

And he knew her now. He _knew_ her.

_Damn it, no… not again. Not again, please._

/

**Alright guys, I hope you liked that chapter. Joker and Jeannie finally meet, huh? I hope it lived up to your expectations, and of course, they'll be further interaction next chapter. **

**As always, reviews are requested and welcomed. I want to give a huge thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I'm so appreciative of all of them! And to everyone who takes the time to read my story at all, thank you! I'm honored that you think enough of it to spend your time on it.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:**

_He ran half-heartedly from her, jogging across the field. He could hear her footsteps approaching from behind, and the sound of her laughter, and he smiled. _

_He was a fast runner. He figured that was probably the only physical activity he was actually good at. But he wanted her to catch him. _

_He wanted to make her happy._

_He felt her crash in to him, her arms wrapping around his waist as they both went tumbling to the ground._

_The two of them fell in to laughter, she climbing up off his back, struggling to her feet and bounding a few feet away. She turned to look at him, a giant grin across her face. _

"_You're it!" She said._

_She gasped excitedly as he pushed himself to his knees, looking up at her and smiling back._

_His eyes narrowed._

"_Oh, I'm gonna get you now!" he said, in a mock-threatening tone. _

"_Oh yeah?" she teased, putting her hands on her hips and standing straight. _

"_Yeah." He answered, and suddenly he was getting to his feet._

_She screamed, the sound sliding in to half-panicked giggles as she turned, darting away, _

_He started after her._

"_Here I come!" Jack shouted, and she screamed more._

_He gave only a partial effort in trying to catch her, letting her run away from him, letting the chase across the grass persist. _

_He thought he would like for it to last like this, for it to be this way always._

_Just the two of them, together, free from the rest of the world, from all its horrible cruelty. _

_She stopped suddenly, turning._

"_Jack… I…" She panted. "I have to stop…" She lowered herself, holding her hand to her chest. Giggles continued to escape her throat between her trying to catch her breathe._

_He moved forward, going to sit beside her._

_He brought his knees up, resting his elbows atop them. His hands clasped together as he looked down, taking in the lush blades beneath them. _

_He hadn't realized how far they'd run, that they'd gone across almost the entire length of the field, a good 200 meters._

"_I'm sorry…" He said. "I didn't…uh… I didn't notice how hard I was making you run."_

_Jeannie laughed, grabbing hold of his arm._

"_You didn't make me do _anything _Jack!" She leaned in to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. "Don't be sorry!" _

"_I just didn't realize…" He started again, keeping his gaze fixed down. _

"_Jack." He heard her say._

"_Jack…"_

"Jack…"

He looked up, and there she was… only they weren't outside anymore. They weren't sitting together in the grass.

She was seated, across from him, and he was standing, and there was a window between them, a barrier.

She looked concerned.

"I know this can't be easy for you." She said. "It isn't easy for me."

And then she looked down, again taking up her bag.

"But there's something else you need to know. And I don't know how much you remember but… I thought maybe this would help you to."

The Joker's eyes moved rapidly about the space he was in.

Christ, it had happened again. He'd blacked out, forgotten where he was, _who_ he was.

That woman had been there again, the one that always came, the one that made him feel… made him feel…

He shook his head, looking up. But there she was still, and he was sure now this wasn't a dream, this wasn't some kind of fractured imagining of his mind.

She'd come to him; she was real, right there.

And he _knew_ her. He knew who she was, who she'd _been_.

He remembered them together, remembered she'd made him feel a sensation he hadn't ever known, a kind of incredible relief, like air to his lungs after being held under water. He didn't have a name for it. He didn't know.

But now he felt as though he couldn't breathe at all.

He watched her with a kind of dread, not understanding why she'd come here. Why in his mind she wouldn't let him be, and now here, in his waking moments, she had started the same.

"Why are you here?" He heard himself ask, and he only realized a moment later he'd spoken aloud.

She looked back at him, a startled look in her eyes, one which turned quickly in to hope.

Her hand was halfway out of her bag.

"… I… I had to see how much of you was left." She finally answered, her voice hushed.

Her hand emerged fully from the bag, and in it, she held something, cloud blue in color, some piece of clothing.

The Joker glimpsed it, and suddenly he froze. A heavy sinking feeling consumed him, settling in the pit of his stomach.

"What is… what is that?" He breathed, and he hated then how thin his voice sounded.

Jeannie looked up at him, fingering the material.

"Do you… do you remember Jack?" She asked, hesitant. "I was… I was pregnant… just a few months away when you… when you disappeared."

He shook his head, stepping back, away from the glass.

Oh Jesus…

"It… it was a boy Jack. We had a boy together."

He only continued to shake his head.

"You'd been so sure Jack. Remember? You'd known we were going to have a boy."

She started to unfold the piece of cloth in her hands.

"Stop it." He said.

But his voice was so quiet she didn't catch him.

"You bought this for him." She said, holding it up, a one-piece suit for an infant. "You… you were so excited. Do you remember?"

He stepped away again, and this time he felt the edge of the table slam in to his legs.

"No…" He whispered. "_No_!"

"_Do you like it?" He asked, holding it up for her to see. _

_She reached out, taking the material between her fingers, feeling it._

"_Oh Jack, its lovely." She smiled, looking up at him. "But… where did you get it?"_

"_I went in to the city after work today. It's why I'm late. I'm sorry about that." He explained._

_She shook her head._

"_No need to be sorry." She said, again looking to the suit._

"_It's gonna be a boy Jeannie." Jack enthused, a wide smile spreading across his lips. "I just _know_ it."_

_She laughed lightly at his excitement. _

"_A strapping boy like yourself?" She said, smoothing her hands over his shoulders._

_He chuckled, looking down._

"_Hopefully _not_."_

"_Hopefully _so_." Jeannie said. _

_She reached out then, putting her hand beneath his chin and bringing his face up to look at her. _

"_Come here." She said, stepping closer, standing on her toes to capture his lips in a kiss. _

_He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her. _

_He lifted her up, off the floor, bringing her closer, deepening it._

_They remained locked like that for the next, several seconds, until finally he rested her back down._

_She reached up, smoothing her hand through his thick hair, pushing it back off of his forehead._

"_God, I love you Jack." She breathed, and he smiled. _

"_I love you too."_

He reached up, gripping the sides of his head, pressing his palms down hard, his fingers digging in to his scalp, his eyes squeezing shut, his teeth clenching.

"_NO_!" He shouted. "Go away! Leave me _alone_ damn it!"

Jeannie jumped slightly in her chair at the sudden outburst, her hands falling to her lap.

She swallowed.

"Jack, I…"

"Stop… stop _calling_ me that!" The Joker suddenly spit, his eyes flying open, staring hard at her. "That… that isn't my _name_! That isn't… isn't who I _am_!"

Jeannie could feel her heart rate quicken in her chest, and inadvertently she gripped tight to the material in her hands.

"I… I'm sorry. I know this is difficult. I didn't mean…"

"NO!" The Joker cut her off. "You _don't_ know! You don't know me!"

He stepped fast towards her, and before she even knew what was happening, he was slamming his fists against the Plexiglas, his eyes wide with rage.

She fell back, stumbling out of her chair and stepping backwards.

"You know nothing. _Nothing_!" He hissed.

Again he slammed his hands against the window, and Jeannie could see he was hitting it with his full force, the Plexiglas reverberating with the impact.

It was only damaging his hands, but he seemed not to care, not to notice as he did it again.

"… S-stop." She pleaded, afraid he was going to hurt himself. "Don't… don't do that…"

"Shut up!" The Joker screamed, again smashing his fists against the window. "Shut the _fuck_ up! Stop telling me… stop telling me what to do. Stop _talking_ to me!"

He turned abruptly, moving across the room.

"You… you think you've figured me _out_? You think you understand… understand what I _am_? You don't… You don't understand _anything_!"

Jeannie watched in horror as the Joker suddenly hurled himself against the rooms back wall, _hard_. He collided off it, only for him to do it again, this time losing his balance and falling to the floor.

It took him only a moment to get to his feet, and now Jeannie had covered her mouth with her hands, terrified.

"Stop it!" She cried. "_Please_ stop it!"

But he wasn't listening at all, again throwing himself in to the wall, as forceful as before.

When he began smashing his head in to the wall, that's when she started to scream, and that soon fell in to sobs as he turned towards the table, grabbing hold of its edges and slamming his face against its surface.

It was like he was trying to kill himself, she thought, tears filling her eyes as she saw the blood begin to pour from his nose and mouth. The worst kind of fear filled her heart as she realized he didn't care about the damage he was causing himself, or he didn't notice.

She thought of Jack, of how he had always gone in to situations where he was guaranteed to get hurt, but he had never seemed to realize it, never seemed the least bit deterred by any kind of threat to his well being. She remembered how she would worry over him, how her heart would begin to pound whenever he got himself in to any kind of confrontation, terrified that he was going to get himself killed some day.

Seeing him now, acting the same, unconcerned, or maybe just unaware of the danger, it tore her apart; seized up her insides. And it was worse now. It was worse because he was doing it to _himself_. He was _hurting_ himself. He'd never done anything like that before, not when they were together. He'd never been that troubled.

He seemed truly mad to her now. Truly disturbed.

It made her think of Rory. Of their son.

What if… Oh God, what if he had inherited the same sickness as his father?

She couldn't handle the thought of it. She couldn't bear the notion.

She didn't know what she would do if Rory suffered the same fate, the same difficulties and struggles as Jack had, as Jack still _did_.

She staggered back, further from the window as the Joker dragged himself up from the floor, his face a crimson mask now. She couldn't even tell from where he was bleeding anymore.

"Heee… Yo-you think you know me?" He said.

But he wasn't looking at her. It was as though he were talking to no one, talking to himself maybe. Like she wasn't even there.

"I… I'm beyond your feeble m-mind." He sputtered, blood pouring from his mouth. He spit it out, on to the floor, the deep red of it contrasting sharply with the white linoleum. "You'll… you'll never understand. Never k-know what… what it is to _be_ me."

He chuckled, trying to rise to his feet, swaying as he lost his balance and falling back down, clearly dizzy from having slammed his own head against the table numerous times.

He shook his head, his hair falling in to his face, and again he made the attempt to stand, this time succeeding.

"You cannot comprehend." He said. "You _cannot_!"

Suddenly he turned towards her, stumbling forward and slamming against the window, his blood addled face leaving a bright smear of red across the clear Plexiglas.

Jeannie jumped back, her hand again covering her mouth as a scream tore from her throat.

He frowned at her, his brow furrowing in a clear expression of pain.

"You're… you're crazy." He said to her. "You're fucking _crazy_ if you think… if you think you can trick me. _Me_! The Joker! I'm… I'm the greatest mind… the greatest mind you'll ever encounter you s-stupid… you… you fool!"

He slid away from the window then, turning and falling forward, barely keeping his footing as he slammed, once more, in to the table, dropping down hard, on to his elbows.

"… Can't trick me…" He mumbled. "Can't…"

Tears were streaming down Jeannie's face now, her entire body trembling.

"Oh God…" She breathed in barely a whisper, watching as he slid off the table, in to a sitting position on the floor.

He curled his knees up to his chest, again gripping the sides of his head, his face screwing up in agony as he began slowly to rock back and forth, like some tortured child. And he kept mumbling over and over, "You can't trick me. You can't, you can't…"

There was blood all over the room, on the window and walls, on the table, and now dripping from his face, on to the floor.

Christ, someone had to help him!

She turned, running down the corridor, towards the exit, towards the guards.

Bursting through, she screamed.

"Somebody! Please! _Help_ him! Oh God!"

Gabriel and the first man, Louis, turned towards her with startled expressions.

"He… He's going to kill himself! Please, someone help him!" She again cried, barely able to see, the tears were coming so thick and strong now.

"Hold on a second Ms. Reinking. Now just calm down. What's the matter?" Gabriel asked, approaching her slowly, his hands reached out.

"He's… He's… Oh Christ, he's _killing_ himself in there! You have to stop him! _Help _him!"

Gabriel and Louis looked at one another uncertainly.

"Please!" Jeannie begged.

Finally, Louis brought his hand up to his radio, speaking in to it.

"We've got a situation, down in Viewing Room 3." He spoke. "Patient 3875 displaying unstable, violent behavior. Backup requested. Over"

A moment later and another voice came crackling through.

"Request noted. Help on the way. Out."

Gabriel turned towards Jeannie then.

"Ma'me, just wait here. Alright? We'll take care of this."

She remained silent, her eyes wide with anxiety as the two men disappeared through another door, presumably one which led to the viewing room.

She didn't listen, running back down the corridor to see what was happening.

A moment after arriving back at the window, and she saw five men burst through the door on the other side, wielding batons.

The Joker had still been sat on the floor, still clutching his head between his hands.

But as soon as the guards came through, he pushed himself to his feet, backing away, plastering his back against the Plexiglas.

Jeannie watched with frightened eyes as the men came at him slowly. She could hear his breathing, sharp and erratic.

And then everything seemed to happen all at once, the men lunging in, he trying to get away, throwing himself to his left.

But he was surrounded, and Jeannie screamed loudly as one of the guards slammed his club in to the Joker's stomach, bringing him to his knees.

The others came in then, starting to bring their sticks down, over his back and head.

No. _No_! This was all wrong! They were… they were supposed to be _helping_ him! Not _hurting_ him!

She slammed her palms against the window.

"Stop it!" She cried. "_Stop it_! He isn't doing anything!"

But they weren't listening, continuing to beat him.

"What are you _doing_?" She screamed once more, again pounding her hands against the Plexiglas. "Can't you see he needs help? He isn't doing anything! He hasn't hurt anyone but himself! STOP IT! STOP!"

But her pleas still went ignored, and she could only watch as they kept beating him, until he lay unmoving on the ground, his breathing shallow and harsh.

Two of the guards picked him up under the armpits and began to pull him from the room, his body limp, his head hanging and his legs dragging behind him.

Jeannie's face was soaked with tears as she watched, her heart racing, her own breathing labored and frantic as she leaned against the window.

She was shaking still, more violently then before even.

He hadn't even been able to defend himself, especially not with his hands cuffed like that.

Why had they done that?

_Why_?

Oh God, she had to help him.

She had to _save_ him!

She was the only one who could.

/

_Hey guys, sorry for the shorter chapter. The next one will be a lot longer. As always, reviews are appreciated! And thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter! You guys are the best!_


	13. Chapter 13

**Hey guys! So, once again, a HUGE thank you to my beta TheMadCapLaughs for her great contributions to this chapter. **

**Just an FYI, this chapter consists mainly of a flashback sequence, mainly to help develop the characters and the relationships shared between them, and for future reference, they'll be chapters like this throughout the rest of the story, where there's singular flashback sequences which don't connect or lead in to the present timeline. Nonetheless, I think they're essential and important to the story and I hope you enjoy them. These flashbacks will be interspersed between the present, main timeline and story.**

**Anyway, enough of that. Here's the chapter. Hope you guys enjoy it!**

**Chapter 13:**

_The celebration was being held in an elegant glass-fronted restaurant with a panoramic view of San Francisco Bay. It was the sort of place that offered tasting menus for $150 per head. Modern art filled the walls. The loud hum of voices speaking and sound of glasses clinking filled the space around them, almost engulfing them._

_The room, Jeannie thought, was unbearably stuff. She inhaled deeply, looking down, trying to calm herself, trying to hide the despondency from her face. _

_Apparently, she wasn't doing a very good job._

_She felt David's hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. _

"_You alright?" _

_She forced a smile, looking up at him, nodding. _

"_I'm fine," she lied. "Just a little tired." _

_He smiled back at her._

"_It's been a long evening." He said. "But it's just for a little bit longer."_

_Again she nodded, casting her eyes away. All she wanted to do was leave right _then_. But that would look strange. The bride to be, taking off early from her own pre-wedding celebration. _

_She heard David sigh contentedly._

"_Listen, I'm gonna go get some more champagne. You want some?" _

_Again she forced a smile, holding up her barely empty glass for him to see. _

"_I'm alright." _

_He gave a nod. _

"_Okay. I'll be back in just a second." He turned around and grinned at her. _

"_Don't go anywhere!" he teased, winking playfully, and disappeared into the crowd of guests. _

_All she could do was smile back tightly. _

_She was being unfair, she thought, mentally pinching herself. Unfair to David. She should try. She really should at least _try_ to enjoy herself. _

_But she couldn't. And she knew how equally unfair it was – unfair to David - to keep pretending that everything was a-okay._

_She and David were to be married tomorrow. She could hardly believe it. She thought it was like some kind of dream. Surreal and vague. _

_She should be happy. She _knew_ she should be. But no matter how much she tried to convince herself of it, she couldn't shake the feeling of depression which in the last, few weeks had taken her, or the heavy weight she now felt upon her heart._

_Watching David as he moved through the crowd, the sadness seemed only to grow worse. _

_She knew what it was. Knew _exactly_ what it was._

_And she tried to stop it, tried desperately._

_But she couldn't. _

_Couldn't stop her thoughts of Jack. _

_She observed as David found himself stopped every few feet by individuals and groups of admirers, all offering their congratulations, their well wishes and praise. And David, who took each of their hands in to his own, giving it a firm shake or a warm kiss, never taking his eyes from theirs, returning their offers with his most genuine smile and sincerest gratitude. _

_He was expert at it, like she was. At making people feel comfortable; making them feel appreciated and important. _

_And all she could think of, as she watched her fiancé move with easy confidence from one cluster of guests to the next, never missing anyone, knowing exactly what to say to each and every one of them to make them feel welcome and special … all she could think about was Jack. _

_Jack, who would have stood with his head down, his eyes fixed on the floor, his arms folded insecurely over his chest. Who would have stuttered and struggled if anyone bothered to speak to him, barely able to hold eye contact for more than a split second. That was if he'd been able to look up at all. Jack, who would have been almost paralyzed by his own shyness, and instead of the looks of admiration, would instead have received glares of scorn and disapproval._

_But at least it would have been _real_._

_She shook her head. She hated herself for making this particular comparison. _

_It wasn't really fair, she realized. It wasn't David's fault. He was just doing what was expected of him, what _everyone_ did. _

_She shouldn't be mad at him for being good at it._

_But there the comparisons were, and she found it impossible to push them from her mind._

_David was different from Jack in many ways. _

_Self-assured, confident, daring, unpredictable in all the right ways. Even physically, there were differences. David had this sort of easygoing, slightly unkempt sexiness. Jack had had slightly curled, light brown hair, cut short. David's hair was darker, shoulder-length, a little messy. And even though at six feet, David was a full five inches shorter then Jack had been, he possessed a much better build, with broader shoulders and a waist proportioned to go with them. _

_Jack, on the other hand, had been narrow, gangly limbed and fragile looking. _

_Physical differences aside, it was also the circumstances of their meeting and the subsequent nature of their relationships which couldn't have been more at odds. _

_David had come in to her life at a time when she had found herself at a low ebb, emotionally speaking. Professionally she was thriving, but her personal life could have been a whole lot better. She'd just broken up with her boyfriend of the past two years, Frazer, and had come to the conclusion that she shouldn't be looking for a relationship at all. At least not at that point. Over the past ten years, she'd been with three different men, and none of them had worked out. She was beginning to think it must be _her_, because it wasn't as if they weren't decent guys. _

_But none of them were _him_. None of them were Jack._

_She couldn't get over him. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how deeply she threw herself in to these other relationships, she couldn't forget him, couldn't forget what they'd _had_._

_And then David had come along. It had been very simple, really. They'd bumped into each other, almost literally, at the local health food shop one afternoon. He'd just bought an apartment not far from Jeannie's place. He'd invited her to his housewarming party, and things had flourished from there. _

_David was a reputable architect. Extremely talented and sought after, a breath of fresh air. He loved to travel. Not just the obvious places, like Europe, but further afield too. He took her trekking in the Himalayas; on a cruise down the west coast of South America to the Antarctic Circle, where they watched penguins capering on the ice. They rented a farmhouse in the Australian outback for two weeks; they sailed down the Nile on a barge. Wherever they went, David showed her buildings that he admired or inspired him, wanting to share his passion with her. _

_That aspect of him was perhaps what had most captured her imagination. His _passion_. Not only for his work, but for life, for people and places and everything in between. He seemed alive to her, _exciting_. In a way she'd never experienced with anyone else._

_And eventually, she'd fallen in love._

_At least, she _thought_ she had._

_Now she wasn't quite so sure. _

_What she couldn't understand is, her doubt stemmed from nothing _he_ had done. It was all her. _

_David was a wonderful human being. Incredibly caring and gentle. A true gentleman. The type who'd lay his jacket over a puddle so she wouldn't get her shoes wet. Old-school, yet with an incredible zest for life. _

_She remembered how frightened she'd been when it came time to tell him she had an eleven year old child from a previous marriage. She'd been sure he was going to disappear after that, tell her he liked her, but he just couldn't afford to be weighted down by some other guys kid. That, after all, had been a problem with all her other boyfriends. Though they'd never said so outright, she could see in their eyes they didn't much like the baggage of a fatherless child. That they weren't willing to fill that role. _

_And David was an important person. He could have had any girl he wanted, no doubt. Why would he take one with the kinds of problems she presented? _

_And so her shock had been great when, without hesitation, without qualms, he'd accepted Rory as though he were his own son. _

_He always went over and above board for birthdays and Christmases and for no occasion at all, just _because_. And as the relationship between herself and David developed, he would come over constantly to their home, and spend hours just talking to Rory, hanging out with him, playing with him on his Xbox, or throwing the ball. It got to the point in which Rory felt more comfortable talking to David about certain issues then to her. "Guy stuff" he would call it. _

_It seemed to her, in every way, that David was becoming the father Rory had never had, and in turn, Rory had started to think of David as just that. Finally, he had a male role model, someone he could relate to, someone he felt comfortable hanging out with, playing with, someone to look up to and brag about to his friends. _

_And through all of this, David had never once failed to lavish her with just as much attention and love. He was constantly buying her meaningful gifts, taking her on one trip after the other. He was always there for a reassuring hug, a kiss, a tender gesture. _

_For the first time in her adult life, she felt as though someone were taking care of _her_._

_It had all seemed so perfect. So _complete_. _

_But somehow… it wasn't. _

_She told herself she shouldn't be so selfish. She had Rory to consider, after all. David was beyond successful. And he was smart. Not smart like Jack. Not brilliant. But the kind of intelligence he had, she tried to reason… it was better suited to the world then Jack's had been, more applicable. A kind of _practical _intelligence. The kind of logical, common sense thinking which was good for her son to be around, to learn from. There was no reason for her to be feeling this way, to be dissatisfied. Financially, you couldn't ask for a more stable partner then David. He was someone both she and her son could rely on, could count on to always be there, to provide for them._

_But Rory _wasn't David's _son. He was _Jack's_ son. It should have been _Jack_ buying him presents, _Jack _spending all those hours with him, talking to him, playing with him, getting to be his _father_._

_She felt her hand gripping more tightly to her champagne glass, and she looked down, unable to bear the sight of it. The sight of the guests fawning over the man they so adored, so loved._

_She couldn't help thinking how _cruel _these same people would have been to Jack. How _vile_. _

_All they cared about was the fact David was making a six-figure salary; that he was respected within his field. _

_As if Jack couldn't have been just as successful. _

_Maybe if he'd come from a well-off family like David had; maybe if he'd had loving and supportive parents to guide and inspire him, instead of a malevolent creep of a father who did nothing but beat and belittle and torture him. Maybe if Jack hadn't been made to believe he was _nothing_ all his life, then he could have been just as successful. _More _successful, she thought bitterly. He would have been a pioneer in the scientific field, a Nobel prize winner perhaps, one of those brilliant minds you constantly heard about on the news. That, or he would have been a world famous comedian or… or actor… or a _singer, even._ His voice was incredible, easily good enough to be professional. Christ, he could have been whatever he wanted, had he turned his hand to it, if only… if only he'd been allowed to _believe_ in himself!_

_Her eyes closed, and she tried to breathe. She had to calm down. She was working herself in to a tizzy thinking of it all. _

_She had to let it go._

_Let it _go_!_

_But God damn it, she _couldn't_. _

_Couldn't stop thinking of how Jack had been cheated, how he'd been so horribly robbed of what he deserved, of the _life _he deserved._

_How fucking _unfair_ it all was, God damn it!_

"_Hey sweetheart." _

_Her head snapped up, so startled she nearly dropped her glass._

_She saw both her mother and father, smiling back at her. _

_She hadn't even noticed anyone approach, she'd been so lost in thought. _

"_H-hi." She stumbled, quickly casting her eyes away. _

_God, she wished they'd just go away. She didn't feel like pretending everything was alright._

_Apparently, they weren't taking the hint. _

_She heard her mother approach, in a hail of tinkling laughter. "This is such a beautiful party, Jeanette!" she exclaimed, marveling at the restaurant decor, at the guests clad in expensive designer clothing. "Don't you think, sweetheart?"_

_She looked at the older woman, smiling weakly and giving a nod. _

"_Yeah. Very nice," she managed, flatly._

"_David's been just wonderful. Such a _gentleman!_" _

_She looked down._

"_Yeah, David's a great guy," she replied, dully._

"_He sure is." Her mother smiled, oblivious to her daughter's agitation as she looked back towards David, still talking to the various guests. "Such an amazing man. You landed yourself a real _winner,_ darling." _

_She said nothing to that, continuing to keep her eyes fixed on the floor, praying that her mother would become distracted by the canapés or something and disappear. _

_Her mother turned back to her, smiling even more widely._

"_You made the right choice this time, Jeanette." She placed a reassuring hand on her daughter's arm. "Trust me on that one, sweetheart." Her mother's voice was kind, but her words were a double-edged sword. Jeannie felt instantly repelled. She looked up, her eyes narrowing._

"What?"

"_You made the right choice this time dear. David is so incre…"_

"… _The… _right_ choice?" She cut her mother off. "What… what the hell is that supposed to mean?" _

_The older woman blinked, clearly confused by her daughters suddenly angry tone. _

"_I'm… I'm sorry…" She began. "I'm not sure what you're…"_

"_No." Her daughter fumed. "_No_! What does that _mean_? I made the _right choice_? What does that even _mean_?"_

_Her mother's mouth closed, still holding the same, confused expression._

_And suddenly her father stepped in. _

"_I think what your mother is trying to say dear is that… well, David is just a good choice for you. He'll be able to support you, take care of you and Rory…" _

_She shook her head, glaring at the two of them. _

"_No." She said. "No. She said _this time_. I made the right choice _this time_."_

"… _Well, to be perfectly honest Jeanette…" said her father, fumbling nervously with his glasses, "Your mother was right. Because …" _

"_Because!" Jeannie exclaimed. "Come on, Dad. Try actually leveling with me for a change!" _

_Her father waited a moment, staring at her, and then he cleared his throat. _

"_To be perfectly honest Jeanette, what your mother means is… Jack, as sweet a boy as he was…" He shook his head. "He just wasn't any good for you dear."_

_Her mouth hung open, incredulous, unable to hide the anger from her eyes. _

"_And _you _would know?" She spit. "Because, what, you met him all of two times? And suddenly that makes you qualified to say whether he was 'right' for me or not?"_

"_Jeanette, sweetheart…" her mother started. "Let's not get worked up about this, okay? We didn't mean…" _

"_No." She shook her head. "No, that's _exactly_ what you meant. You don't have to pretend for _my _benefit. You _never_ approved of Jack. You _never_ wanted me to marry him."_

_Her mother went silent and her father again stepped in. _

"_Jeanette, the truth of it is… as sweet a boy as Jack was… he was unstable, sweetheart. He just didn't have it together enough to support you…" _

"_Oh, _please_…" She looked away, crossing her arms over her chest. _

"_It's true, Jeannette. I know you don't like to hear this, but it's true. Jack was a very mixed up kid. Very confused. You married him because you were young, you had a crush…"_

_She looked back at him, fury now lining her face. _

"_No _Dad_! Don't you do that! Don't you tell me why I married Jack! As if _you'd _know! I married him because I _loved_ him!" _

_He paused, staring at her a long moment before sighing. _

"… _Well, regardless of how you felt dear… the fact is, Jack was a mess. Alright? He was no good for you. He wasn't able to support you. How do you think he would have done, having to take care of both you and Rory?"_

"_Jack is _dead!_" She spit, her voice rising. "Why don't you show a little _fucking_ respect, huh?"_

_Her mother gasped. "You watch your mouth, Jeanette!" she scolded, but her daughter just ignored her. _

"_No. I _won't_. I'm tired of this shit. Really fucking tired. For years all you two have been able to do is remind me of what a _mistake_ I made marrying Jack, holding it over me like it was the great folly of my life!"_

"_Well, it _was_!" spat her father. "Listen, I'm sorry to have to be so harsh, but you asked for it. Jack was a screw up, plain and simple. He was a _loser_ Jeanette. He wasn't right in the head. He wasn't _well_. You mentioned that he's dead? Yeah, and he only has himself to blame. He got _himself _killed honey. And in the process he left you all alone, with a _child_ on the way. You think that was good for you? You think someone so blatantly irresponsible would have made a good _father_? What the hell would have happened to you and Rory if he hadn't died, huh? I'll tell you what! He would have gotten the two of _you_ killed _too_! You'd _all _be dead now. I hate to say this Jeanette, but his dying was probably the only thing that _saved_ you and your son, the only reason you're both still alive."_

_Rage exploded inside her, so intense she felt numb, her body trembling with it, shaking. _

_She stared, unmoving, unblinking, her mouth set in a firm line, her teeth clenched, grinding together so hard she could _hear_ it. And in her eyes was _pain_._

_She couldn't hold it in, couldn't stop it, couldn't control it. _

_Without warning she threw her glass down, not even noticing as it shattered against the floor._

_She erupted. _

"_How _dare _you!" she screamed. "How DARE you!" _

_And she didn't even try to stop the tears which suddenly sprang to her eyes, falling rapidly down her face. _

"_The father of my child. My SON! You fucking_ _BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT HIM LIKE THAT! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!" _

_She threw herself at her father, slamming her fists against his chest, pushing him back. _

"_FUCK YOU! FUCK THE _BOTH _OF YOU!" _

_Her father stumbled backwards, completely shocked, and she could hear somewhere off to her side her mother screaming and crying. She didn't even notice how the rest of the room had gone silent, notice how they now stared at her in disbelief. _

"_I HATE you. Do you hear me? I fucking hate BOTH of you. Don't you ever talk to me again! Don't you ever even TRY!"_

_Violently, she pushed past him, not caring in the least that she'd created a scene, walking with unstoppable determination towards the exit._

_David had just started back from the bar, only catching the tale end of the fight, and he went after her, trying to keep up. _

"_Jeanette, what…" He called. "What happened? Baby?" _

_She ignored him, continuing to make a bee-line for the door. _

"Jeanette_!" _

"_Leave me alone David!" She spit, not even bothering to turn and look at him. "Just leave me the hell alone!"_

She'd called the wedding off.

She'd _had_ to.

And though she'd felt completely awful about it, racked with guilt over having pulled the rug out from underneath both David _and _Rory, she knew to go through with it would, ultimately, have been the wrong decision; a selfish one.

Because ultimately she realized that all her doubts and _fears _in the run up to the wedding had been caused by the fact that she still hadn't gotten over Jack, and that, despite having tried to convince herself over the past year and a half that she _loved_ David, the truth was, she didn't. She cared for him; _adored_ him even. But she wasn't _in love_ with him. If she was being honest with herself, that was something she'd known all along.

She'd agreed to marry him because she thought at the time that that's what would have been best for Rory, that that's what he'd _needed_.

Rory had been disappointed; almost as disappointed as David. It broke her heart to have to do it, but in time, she'd been confident both of them would understand it was for the best.

And eventually, they had.

Shortly afterwards, an opportunity to move back East had presented itself.

She'd been toying with the idea of moving onto a national newspaper for some time. There was just one snag: all the major nationals were based on the East Coast. David had said he'd be willing to relocate with her, but at the time, she'd been reluctant to let him risk closing his San Francisco office to set up shop in a city potentially filled to the brim with established competitors.

Nonetheless, with David's encouragement and reassurance, she'd contacted two out of the 'Big Three': the _Daily Planet_ in Metropolis and the _New York Times._ Both informed her that there were no openings at that time, but if she could send them a resume and a copy of her portfolio, they'd be in touch when a position arose. Which was unlikely. Staff at both the _Planet_ and the _Times_ held on to their jobs like gold-dust, often staying until retirement. They only tended to recruit at entry level.

About three months later, she received a call from the _Gotham Gazette, _third of the Big Three publications. It transpired somebody at the _Planet_ had read her resume and, suitably impressed, had sent a copy to the _Gazette_ on hearing of a relevant editorial vacancy at that paper. The editor-in-chief had called her, explaining what they were willing to pay her to come on board. The salary was extremely generous – almost double her current salary – and the benefits tremendous.

But she hadn't wanted to move back to Gotham. It was why she hadn't bothered contacting the _Gazette _in the first place_._ Too many memories, for starters. Bad ones, and happy ones now tinged with sadness. Even her parents had left, and were now living in Florida. The high super-crime level was also a factor. She felt, quite understandably, that Rory, David and herself would be safer in Metropolis or New York. So she turned them down.

When she'd called the wedding off a month later, it occurred to her it might make things easier if her and David weren't living so close to one another. Sheepishly, she called the _Gazette_ back, saying she was now ready to make the move. She was informed that the position had been filled just one week earlier, but that they'd bear her in mind if something else came up. She didn't expect to hear from them again.

Within a week, however, she did. It was serendipitous. It transpired that the person they'd employed had backed out at the eleventh hour. He'd been offered a similar post at the _Dubai Times_ for even more money than the Gazette was offering. The job was hers if she wanted it.

And that's when she made the move.

/

**There you go. Hope you liked it! Huge thanks to all my readers and everyone who left a review last chapter. Again, reviews are welcomed and appreciated! **


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey guys, so, here's the next chapter. I noticed on my last chapter I only got one review. I'm wondering if it's because if you guys didn't like it. Either way, you should let me know what you think of each chapter I post, so I can improve and fix things. Reviews are what motivate to keep going. Anyway, here's the next part. Hope you like and of course, feedback is encouraged. **

**Chapter 14:**

She was sitting on the couch, trying to focus, to concentrate on editing an article she hadn't been able to get finished at work, due the next day.

But she was finding it impossible.

She kept looking up, looking over at Rory, who was sitting on the floor, playing one of his video games, lost in it, seemingly oblivious to his mother's anxiety.

Her eyes moved to the front door, her mind filling with thoughts of the officers outside it, standing watch, and her worry only intensified.

The Joker had escaped Arkham Asylum a week ago, a week after she'd gone to see him, to talk to him.

Batman had been the one to inform her, before the story had even broke publicly. He'd told her solemnly and with concern how the Joker had killed three orderlies in brutal fashion, bludgeoning them to death before leaving.

She'd been completely terrified. She'd asked him if it had been her, if he'd killed those men because of her, and Batman had shaken his head, telling her no, telling her he would have killed them anyway.

But the concern was now with her. The fact the Joker had made the effort to escape so soon after she'd seen him, after the way he'd reacted to that visit, the vigilante had been worried the madman's sole intent now would be getting to Jeannie. And he hadn't hidden the worry from her.

He'd explained how he'd informed the Commissioner of Police of who she was, and that she was going to need police protection until the Joker could again be apprehended. He'd assured her that it was _only _Commissioner Gordon who knew the details of the situation, and that he'd offered his men another excuse for why they would be detailed outside her front door, or tailing both her and her son whenever it was they had to leave the apartment. He again recommended that, in the mean time, she and her son stay home.

But it was becoming difficult, she was running out of excuses, for her employer, for Rory's teachers, and for Rory himself.

He was a smart kid, and he'd known a few weeks ago something was up.

She'd come up with the story that she'd been part of an article exposing some key players in an underground drug ring, and that the police escorts were there just as a precaution, until the men could be brought to justice.

She tried to make herself feel better about lying to him by telling herself it was only a _partial_ lie.

But that wasn't true, and she knew it. The Joker was much worse then any drug pushers she could conceive of, and she felt the guilt of having exposed her son to this particular danger and keeping him in the dark about it.

Her eyes again shifted back to him, and she was surprised to find him looking at her, concern on his face.

"Mom…" He started. "Is everything alright?"

Her brow furrowed slightly before she forced a smile.

"Yeah baby. Everything's fine."

He didn't look convinced.

"You keep staring at the door." He said. "Like you're afraid something's gonna happen."

She looked back at him, trying hard to conceal her worry. She couldn't help noticing in that moment how very much he looked like Jack. She'd always noticed it, always been aware, but now it seemed particularly prominent. The only thing separating them physically was that Rory had light blonde hair, like herself, and blue eyes, rather then green. But their features were otherwise almost identical. And Rory appeared as though he would be more average in height, not short, but not incredibly tall like Jack. It was a combination of her genes and his. And while Jack had always been very thin, very slight and not really athletically inclined, Rory was particularly good at sports, a fast runner, a good jumper and swimmer. He was coordinated and strong for his age.

In terms of their personalities, she saw some resemblance. Rory, like Jack, loved to try and make her laugh, and he was extremely sweet, as Jack had been, soft spoken and kind. But Rory was also an extremely confident boy, gregarious and assertive. He had a great many friends, and that had been a point of contention when she'd decided to make the move from California to Gotham. He hadn't wanted to leave his buddies behind. But she'd assured him that he could easily make more friends, and she'd been right. On his first day at his new school, he'd come back telling her stories of all the great people he'd met. In that way, he was wholly unlike Jack, who in all the time she'd known him had never had a single friend outside of herself, crippled by his shyness and an inability to relate to the way other people thought.

And also unlike Jack, Rory was very good at seeing when someone was lying to him. That had been part of the reason she was so hesitant feeding him the story of the drug ring bust, and why now she was having so much trouble looking him in the eye. He _knew_ there was something troubling her, that something had been troubling her the last, several weeks, even if he didn't know specifically what.

She shook her head.

"It's nothing Rory. I'm just a little overworked is all."

"Come _on_ Mom." He said, clearly not buying it. "Why don't you just tell me what's really going on? I know you're just trying to protect me or whatever, but I'm _fourteen _Mom, not four. I can handle whatever it is."

She swallowed, looking down.

She wondered if she should just tell him the truth, tell him she'd found his father, the man she'd for years been telling him stories about, telling him how wonderful he'd been. Rory had always been curious about Jack, wanting to know as much about him as possible. When he'd asked her how he'd died, that had been another lie she told, saying he'd been killed in an accident at the chemical plant he'd worked at. In retrospect, that had, at least partially, been the truth. Only Jack was still _alive_.

But he wasn't the man he'd been, he wasn't the man she'd _loved_. In that way, it was as if he really _had_ died that night.

How was she going to tell Rory what had become of him? Tell him that his father had transformed from the sweetest man she'd ever known to a completely psychopathic _murderer_? It was something she herself still had trouble accepting, comprehending.

She just didn't know how to make that work. And she didn't want to expose him to such an ugly reality. At least not when he was still so young. She feared it might traumatize him in some way.

She was about to say something when she heard the doorbell ring and her head snapped up.

Rory looked too, then back to her.

"Should I…" He started, and quickly she stood.

"_No_." She said. "Stay where you are. Don't move."

He did as he was told, watching intently as she crossed the room to the door. She glanced briefly at the clock on the bookshelf. Nearly midnight. That made her nervous, though she didn't know why.

With caution she stepped to the peephole, pressing her hands against the door and bringing her eye to it, looking through with anxious anticipation.

The relief which washed through her at seeing Officer Jacobs standing there was palpable, and she exhaled an audible breath, not even realizing she'd been holding one in. Her head bowed down, her eyes closing as she tried to calm herself, noticing the slight tremor running through her fingers.

She inhaled deeply before again letting it go.

"_Get a _hold _of yourself_." She thought, shaking her head.

And with another intake of breath, she undid the chain, unlocking the deadbolt and placing her hand on the knob.

Slowly she turned it, exhaling as she pulled the door open.

It was almost immediately she registered the look of terror on Officer Jacobs face, and the question briefly past through her mind of why she hadn't before noticed it.

The rest was sudden, without expectation.

She heard a kind of whooshing sound, like a dart being shot through an air gun. An instant after and she saw Officer Jacobs head explode. Her eyes clamped reflexively against the spray of blood, and she felt it, warm and sticky, wash across her face.

When her lids lifted, it was in time to see the man's body crumpling to the ground, and she saw in full view the side of his skull blown out, fragments of bone and brain littering the floor, and what seemed a never ending stream of blood, oozing out beneath him.

That was when she'd started to scream.

A moment later, and her sight was filled by an exceptionally tall man, clad in a suit of deep purple, stepping over the dead Officer. In his hand he held a gun, which he let drop from his fingers, a dull thud sounding as it hit the carpeted hallway floor.

She looked up, and there she saw his face, long and ghostly white, staring back at her, his expression blank.

Another scream tore from her throat and that's when he moved forward, reaching out with his bony hands, clamping one tight over her mouth and shoving her back in to the apartment with ridiculous ease.

She stumbled, nearly loosing her footing, and he followed her in, closing the door behind him, locking it.

"Shut up." He said, his voice flat, emotionless.

Her eyes by now had gone wide as saucers, her irises vibrating in fear, her mouth feeling suddenly as though it were stuffed with cotton.

Oh no, no, Jesus, _no_. This wasn't happening. It wasn't. It _wasn't_.

Her gaze was fixed on him, unable to look away, a horrible numbness running through her limbs. She felt sure if she moved she would collapse. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound filling her ears, so loud it almost hurt, and she felt a rush drop down through her stomach, like the sensation one had when falling.

He stared back at her, unmoving, unblinking. And then his eyes slid past her, resting on something behind. His expression didn't change.

It was a moment later she realized what he was looking at and her panic increased ten fold, her head whipping around to find Rory, standing a few feet back from her, his eyes fixed on the Joker, wide with confusion and fear.

Oh Jesus, _no_!

Without thinking, she moved to the boy, grabbing him by his shoulders and pushing him back.

She heard movement, the distinct click of heels on wood, and she spun around, shoving Rory behind her.

The Joker had stepped towards them, than stopped, staring down to where she'd pushed the boy.

His gaze flicked up to her face, and the only sound now filling the space was that of her ragged breathing, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she took him in.

He continued to pin her, his expression giving nothing away as to what he was thinking, blank and dead, his stare so intense she thought she might vanish from it.

She'd never seen _eyes_ like his, never seen that kind of severity in a person's gaze, that kind of _energy_.

She didn't remember them being that way when she'd gone to see him in Arkham, she didn't remember them making her feel the way she now did, making her feel _small_. And it was suddenly she could no longer hold his stare, and she looked away, to the floor.

A million thoughts raced through her head, and she could feel Rory gripping to her hands which still held tight to his shoulders.

Oh Christ, he was going to _kill _them! He was going to kill _both_ of them!

How was she going to get them _away_? How was she going to save her son?

She thought of the gun the Joker had dropped, out in the hallway.

Why the hell had he done that? Why had he _dropped _it like that?

Could she… could she somehow _get _to it? Was it possible? And if so, _how_?

She thought frantically, trying to devise some kind of plan, but each one she thought of seemed more and more impossible.

She was snapped from it when she registered movement and her eyes shot up, thinking the Joker was coming towards them.

Instead he'd turned his own gaze away, and was now focusing on the wall to his right, the one with all the shelving and the photographs lining it.

Her hands tightened around Rory's shoulders, turning as the Joker moved suddenly, stepping towards the shelves, and inadvertently, she began to push back with him, until they were nearly pressed up against the opposite wall.

Her eyes didn't leave him as he bent to look at the pictures.

This was her chance, she thought. This was her chance to run for the door, to get them the hell out of there!

But then she thought better of it.

She'd be a fool to think the Joker wasn't completely aware of where they were in the room, or that he hadn't anticipated she might try and run. He'd be on her and Rory before they'd made it even halfway to the door.

But oh God, what _choice_ did she have?

Her eyes scanned the area, searching desperately for some object she could use as a weapon, something heavy or blunt or sharp.

There was the fire poker in the corner, and a marble paperweight on the coffee table.

Maybe if she could reach one of those things, maybe if she was fast enough and made the first blow count…

Oh, but _Christ_, who was she _kidding_?

She couldn't get the images out of her head, of Officer Jacobs head exploding, of all the blood and bone and brains. She'd never seen anything so _violent_, so sickening and horrific. She felt ill just thinking of it. And of… of the Joker's _face_ when he'd stepped in to her line of sight, how completely emotionless it had been, almost… almost _bored_, like he hadn't even _noticed_ he'd just _killed_ a man, like it meant absolutely nothing to him. And the… the _casual_ way he'd dropped the gun. He wasn't at all worried, at all _concerned_ with hiding any sort of evidence, of fleeing the scene. She realized with dismay he didn't at all care if he was _caught_. And it was with this realization that it suddenly dawned on her what it was she was dealing with. That he didn't at all care what happened to _him_. The most _dangerous_ kind of person. He was insane. Completely and totally _insane_.

She felt sick, her head beginning to spin.

If she tried to attack him, she knew, deep down, she would have no success. He wouldn't care, he wouldn't _feel_ it, just like he hadn't seemed to feel anything when those orderlies were beating him back in Arkham. Even if she somehow managed to drop him, to get him on the back of the head, just looking at him now, and thinking of what he'd done, and how he'd acted, she knew it wouldn't be enough. That he'd get back on his feet and come after her. And then he'd make her pay.

He was still staring at the photographs, his back to them, completely unconcerned.

Taking in his tall and lanky form, memories flashed in her mind, of all the times she'd walked in on Jack, and he'd had his back to her, just like this, maybe at the refrigerator, or when picking a book off a shelf. She remembered how he would become consumed in his tasks sometimes, how he would be completely unaware of her presence until she cleared her throat or tapped him on the shoulder.

She'd scared him pretty good a few times, doing just that.

She wondered if maybe that was the case now. If the Joker was so consumed with what he was doing, that he wouldn't notice anything else.

No, she shook her head. No. It was naive to assume he still retained _any_ of the same traits he had before. She could see _none_ of the man she'd known now. None at all.

And yet… back at Arkham, when she'd been talking to him… there had been glimpses, flashes of Jack. That couldn't be denied, could it? She hadn't… she hadn't just _imagined _all that, had she?

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of a sudden crash, and her eyes snapped back in to focus, seeing that the Joker had smashed one of the pictures on to the floor.

She watched as he took up another and did the same to that. And then another. And another. Over and over, he just kept smashing the pictures on the ground, until the shelf was almost empty. And with each crash, she jumped, and could feel Rory jump behind her.

"M-mom…?" She heard him whisper, his voice shaking, and she shushed him quickly, not wanting him to draw any attention to himself.

There was only one photograph remaining now. She could see it from here, a picture of Jack, taken during what she'd previously thought had been the last year of his life. He was sitting down at their kitchen table, looking up at the camera, a very faint smile on his lips. But it didn't show up in his eyes. Jeannie had never liked that picture because of that, because she could see the pain there, see how troubled he was.

But it was the only picture she'd had of him from that last year. She remembered him looking away from her after she'd snapped it, remembered the dread she'd felt as he'd laid his head down on the table in the most peculiar way, as though something were terribly wrong with him.

The Joker grabbed it, bringing it close to his face and staring at it.

She held her breath. She wondered morbidly if he could see. If he recognized his own face.

Suddenly he looked up, his eyes shifting over to where they stood, and she felt her heart begin to race again, the beat quickening more as he began to move their way, still holding the photograph.

Without thinking, she again pushed Rory back, until he literally was pressed against the wall.

The Joker stopped just short, only a few feet from them, and his gaze fell to where Rory was hidden.

Jeannie felt as though she might pass out, her hands gripping tighter to her son.

And without warning, the lunatic stepped the rest of the way, reaching out and grabbing her arm, forcing her to turn.

"NO!" She screamed, trying in vain to pull away, to again conceal the boy behind her. But the Joker was far too strong, and in an instant, he'd released his hold on her and transferred it to Rory, tearing him from her hands without effort.

"NO!" She cried again. "JESUS CHRIST, _NO_!"

The Joker was holding him by the arm, staring down at him, a deep frown twisting his mouth. He looked away then, back to the picture he still held, staring for a long, few moments at that, before returning his gaze to the boy.

Suddenly he tossed the picture aside and grabbed Rory with both hands, by his shoulders, jerking him forward.

Jeannie continued to scream, tears having sprung quickly to her eyes and now streaming down her face.

"Oh God, God, _please_!" She begged, but the madman seemed not to even notice.

He bent, squatting in front of the boy, staring him hard in the face as he still held tight to him. His brow furrowed, continuing to frown as he studied Rory.

"What are you?" He asked abruptly.

Rory just stared back at him, his eyes wide. He could feel the pressure of the Joker's grip, squeezing down painfully.

"W-what… what do you mean what _am_ I?" He asked, trying to keep the tremor from his voice, trying to sound unafraid.

"Rory, _don't_!" Jeannie cried behind him. She didn't want him to talk to the Joker, didn't want him to say anything which might upset the madman.

"What _are_ you?" The Joker again snapped, his grip tightening more as he gave the boy a hard shake.

"I-I'm a… a b-boy." Rory answered.

The Joker's frown seemed to deepen, his eyes narrowing.

"You look like him." He said, not bothering to elaborate.

This guy was fucking crazy, Rory thought, feeling his mouth go dry.

"L-like who?" He dared question.

"Like him! _Him_!" The Joker spit, looking to the now discarded photograph, lying on the floor.

Rory's eyes went to it briefly before again snapping to the Joker.

And suddenly it clicked in his mind.

He _thought_ he'd recognized that face. That he knew it from somewhere. He'd seen pictures of the Joker before. Who hadn't? But it was more then that. Like he'd seen his face countless times, like he _knew_ him. It was only just now he realized the Joker's face was _exactly_ like his father's, like all those pictures of the man his mother had shown him.

He licked his lips, feeling queasy.

"Y-you look like him." He said.

Jeannie felt her hand go to her mouth, the tears so thick in her eyes now, she was almost blinded.

Oh God, don't…

The Joker looked at him, confused.

"What?"

"T-the guy in the… the picture. My D-dad. _You_ look like him."

The Joker said nothing, continuing to stare at him as if he had no clue what he was talking about.

"You look j-just like him." Rory went on.

The Joker remained quiet, not moving for a long, few seconds, and then suddenly, he leaned back, his head cocking to the side.

"Your hair's a different color." He said, as if he hadn't heard him. "And your eyes."

Rory said nothing, suddenly feeling unsure.

"And your face isn't as thin." He continued. "It's not as _thin_."

His hands gripped harder, and suddenly there was pain, and Rory choked out.

"Oh God, _stop_!" Jeannie cried.

But the Joker ignored her.

"Why is that?" He insisted to the boy, giving him another shake. "Why _is_ that?"

Again Rory choked, the pain becoming worse.

"Oh God, _stop it_!" Jeannie screamed. "Stop it. You're… you're _hurting _him!"

"_Answer_ me, damn it!" The Joker raged, and abruptly, he stood, picking Rory up off the floor and shaking him harder.

Jeannie lost it then, beginning to wail loudly.

"CHRIST, PLEASE, _DON'T_! DON'T HURT HIM!"

"_Why is that_?" The Joker again demanded, seeming not to hear her. "_Why is that_?"

He was shaking Rory so hard now there was no way he could answer.

"_DON'T_!" Jeannie screamed. "DON'T, _PLEASE_ DON'T… PLEASE, PLEASE… CHRIST, _PLEASE_ DON'T HURT OUR _SON_!"

The Joker at once paused, ceasing to shake the boy, still holding to him, and his eyes slid towards her, narrowing.

She felt her heart stop at the look on his face, the absolute fury in his eyes.

Slowly, he lowered Rory on to the floor, before abruptly shoving him aside, hard enough to make him fall.

In an instant, he was on her, so fast she'd scarcely had time to register the movement, and now he was gripping her arms, his hands like vices as they squeezed down with unrelenting pressure.

She cried out at the sudden and flaring pain, and he shoved her back, slamming her against the wall, the force causing her head to snap back and hit it.

She couldn't believe how _strong_ he was. She could feel from his grip alone that there was no way she could ever escape, ever get away.

Jack had never been like this. He'd never had this kind of _power_.

He'd always been so fragile, almost _frail_. People used to pick fights with him solely for that reason, because they could see he _wasn't _strong, that he wouldn't be able to hurt them, to defend himself.

Where the hell had this come from?

Again he slammed her back, and she cried out, fresh tears falling from her eyes.

Rory had picked himself up off the floor, and seeing what was happening, he threw himself at the Joker, beginning to hit him on his legs and back, screaming at him.

"LEAVE HER ALONE! DAMN IT! LEAVE HER ALONE!"

But the Joker didn't even seem to _notice _the assault the boy launched on him, remaining completely unmoved, his grip only intensifying as he pinned her to the wall, glaring at her with furious and smoldering eyes.

She was going to die. She was sure of it. He was going to kill her, and then he was going to kill Rory, and there wasn't anyone who could save them.

Oh God, please…

She began to sob.

There was nothing… nothing she could do!

"Please…" She begged. "Oh God, _please_ don't do this…"

His teeth ground together, his hands clamping tighter still, pushing her harder to the wall.

She choked out.

And then she screamed.

"_Jack_, don't _DO THIS_!"

He blinked.

His unmoving gaze broken.

Tears continued to fall from her eyes, and she stared up at him through the blur of it. She was trembling, she realized, almost paralyzed with fear.

And he continued to look back at her.

But she could see now that something had changed, that his focus was gone; his eyes no longer held unrelenting rage, or ill intent. They looked… they looked suddenly _confused_.

And then his entire _face_ changed. The hatred and the cruelty, the _meanness_, it disappeared, vanishing to nothing, hardened lines of ceaseless disgust, of unending energy spent on _anger_, it all was suddenly _gone_. Gone _completely_. And in its place, she saw uncertainty, bewilderment and upset and turmoil, like he was lost utterly, wholly.

His brow furrowed, his mouth pulling in to a frown, his eyes seeming to glisten as though coated with some kind of sheen.

Abruptly, his hands began to loosen, and he continued to stare at her with the same kind of puzzlement, almost mortification.

His lips parted, hanging slack, his forehead creasing, as if he were in pain. Terrible pain.

It was an expression she recognized, one she knew as well as any of her own.

An expression Jack had always held.

And it became so clear to her then, more clear then ever before.

She wasn't looking at the _Joker_ anymore.

There was none of _him _left in the face she stared up at.

He was gone.

Gone entirely.

And she could see only _him_ now.

Could see only Jack.

The cruelty replaced by kindness, the coldness replaced by warmth.

It had almost been like watching some kind of physical transformation, the change was so drastic, so sudden.

His hands were barely holding to her arms now, loosely circling round them, and he remained gazing in to her face, a kind of wonderment there.

He breathed out, a shuttering breath.

His mouth opened more.

Silence engulfed them, dragging out a long, few moments.

He looked almost afraid.

And then he spoke.

"… Jeannie…" He breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

His hands lost her arms completely, and they began to move up, slowly.

They were shaking, trembling, and there was no confusing the fear in his eyes now, the kind caused by not knowing.

He seemed disoriented.

The tips of his fingers began tentatively to touch her face, and the touch was gentle, timid and unsure, just as Jack's had always been.

She realized she'd been holding her breath, and she let it go, the sound loud and unstable.

"…Jeannie…" He began again, his voice still barely audible, and she could see then the sheen in his eyes was a coating of tears, just sitting there, waiting to fall.

"Are you…" He whispered. "Are you real?"

She stared at him, unable to hide her shock and confusion.

What was he doing?

Was he… was he toying with her? Was he pretending? Playing with her as some kind of sick joke?

He kept touching her face, moving the tips of his fingers all around it, so softly she barely felt anything at all.

"You're here…" He said. "You're real…" And continued to look in to her eyes. "Are you real?"

She swallowed, not knowing how to respond, or even if she _should_.

"I… I'm real." She finally answered, her voice also hushed.

And his hands began to shake more violently, the tremors extending down his arms, suddenly to his whole body, his entire frame trembling.

His lips pulled in to a more prominent frown, his brow furrowing more deeply, lines creasing heavily in his forehead.

The tears in his eyes welled, he blinked, and two of them fell, streaking down either of his cheeks.

"… You're here." He said. "You're here with me… You're real."

And suddenly he was cupping her face in his hands, still as gently as before.

"You're… Y-you're real. Oh God you're real…"

Tears continued to stream down his face, and all at once, he smiled, _Jack's_ smile, beautiful and warm and full of truth.

"Oh God, Jeannie..."

He leaned in, pressing his lips to her forehead, kissing her.

"… Oh God I love you. I love you so much…"

Oh Christ, what was happening? She had no idea, she had no idea what this _was_.

Was it really him? Had he… had he somehow snapped back to himself, to who he'd _been_?

He continued to kiss her, peppering her skin with the soft caresses, over and over, saying her name over and over, saying he loved her.

Again she swallowed, still unsure.

She reached up, taking gentle hold of his wrists.

"Jack?" She said, and he pulled away, looking down at her.

And that was all it had taken.

She could see in his eyes he was sincere. He wasn't acting, he wasn't _pretending_. You couldn't fake the emotion she saw in him then, the adoration and the love, the concern and care, the overwhelming _relief_.

It was Jack she was looking at, it was the man she'd known since he was just nine years old, who she'd watched grow in to an adult, who she'd been best friends with, who she'd dated and eventually married. It was _him_. There was no doubt in her mind.

"Jack, what…" She began, staring up at him, her own tears falling down her cheeks. She stopped, not even sure what she'd been thinking to say.

He kept looking at her, staring at her with the same kind of amazement and admiration he always had, the same childlike innocence.

Again he smiled, and this time she felt her heart flutter, swell, the same way it always had when he would do that.

"You're here…" He said again.

She smiled back, if only vaguely.

"I'm here." She repeated, and again he leaned in, kissing her once more on the forehead.

"You're here. You're alright. You're alright Jeannie?"

"I… I'm alright." She answered, her voice shaking just slightly.

He breathed out, and the tears continued to form and fall from his eyes.

"I…" He started, than stopped. "I don't… I don't r-remember… I don't remember what… what…"

She waited, watched as he looked down, shaking his head.

"… What happened." He finally said. "I can't remember…" He looked back up at her. "What happened? Where… where was I?"

"… Where… where were you?" She asked his own question back, herself confused.

Again he shook his head, as if trying to clear it.

"I…" He started. "There was something… someone…" And suddenly his eyes went wide, and he stared at her in a panic. "Oh God… M-Mr… Mr. _Zucko_… Jeannie are you… are you _alright_? He didn't… Oh God he didn't… didn't _hurt _you did he?"

She was utterly confused now, not knowing at all what he was talking about.

"Jack, _who_? I… I don't know what you're… what you're talking about."

"Oh God…" He looked away, looking around the apartment. "I can't… I can't _remember_ anything! Where…? Where _are_ we Jeannie? What is this place?"

She swallowed thickly, looking at him with horror as she realized he had no idea where he was, or what had just transpired.

She didn't know if she should tell him. It would probably only confuse him. Scare him more then he already was.

And she still didn't know what he was talking about.

"Jack, who are you talking about? I don't… I don't understand?" She kept holding to his wrists. "_Who_ is Mr. Zucko?"

He returned his gaze to her, and he looked truly terrified now.

"Are we… Oh God, have we been… are we trapped here? Did… did someone bring us here? There… there's blood on your face! Oh God, Jeannie, they… they didn't…"

"Jack, no one brought us _anywhere_!" She reassured, seeing he was on the verge of a panic attack. "This is…" She tried to think of a logical explanation. "One of my parent's homes…"

"They didn't… they didn't hurt you?" He asked again. "They didn't do anything to you?"

"Jack, nobody's done _anything_ to me. Who are you talking about?"

Once more he looked away, taking in his surroundings.

"Oh God, Mr… Mr. Zu-Zucko… H-he's this man I met. He said… he said he could… could _help_ me, said it would… would all be _alright_… I never meant to… I never wanted this to hap-happen."

This was becoming more confusing by the minute.

"Never wanted _what_ to happen Jack?" She pushed. "You're confusing me. _Tell_ me what happened."

He looked at her, swallowing, and a fresh wave of tears had started down his face, these born from worry.

"He s-said… he said he was going… going t-to kill you Jeannie. Y-you and the ba-baby. He said if I didn't help him… if I d-didn't do like he s-said…" Again he shook his head. "He forced me to do it Jeannie… I couldn't… I couldn't say n-no. He said he'd kill you i-if I did!"

"_What _did he make you do Jack? What is it?"

"T-the playing card company, b-behind Ace… they… they wanted me to help them r-rob it, to get them past the s-security system… I don't… I don't remember what happened. I don't remember…"

Jeannie held on to him tighter. It was dawning on her suddenly that he didn't remember _anything_, that he thought, somehow thought, that it was still that night, fourteen years ago, when he hadn't come home from the comedy club, when he'd disappeared.

"_Try_ Jack. _Think_. _What happened_?"

His eyes closed.

"Oh God…" He said. "They… they made me wear this… this thing… over my head. I don't know what it was. I… I couldn't see. There was… there were… there were _gun shots_ and… and people were _screaming_…"

"Jack?"

"I don't remember after that. I don't remember. Everything… everything went… went black." He looked at her, his eyes still glistening with tears. "Oh God Jeannie, you're… you're alright? You're really alright?"

"… I'm alright Jack. I'm alright."

"Oh Jesus, I'm so… I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for… for getting you in to this…" He moved forward, taking his hands from her face and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her towards him in a hug. She could feel his whole body shaking as he buried his face against her neck, feel the wetness of his tears as they streamed down his cheeks. "I'll… I'll make it better. I'll make it alright. I… I promise I will. I promise you…"

Tears fell from her own eyes as she held him back, her heart shattering in to a million pieces.

Oh Christ, what was she going to do? How was she going to tell him, explain to him everything? How was this even going to _work_? He had… he had no _clue _what was going on, what had happened. What had happened to her, happened to _him_. How many years had past. It was a complete nightmare and she didn't know _how _she should feel.

She wished… she wished so much she could just go back, that she could travel back in time and stop all this, that she could… could _save _him. Oh God, why couldn't she _save_ him?

"Jeannie, I'm… I'm going to make it right. I'm going to make things right for us. We'll… we'll get out of the Narrows. We'll live someplace… someplace nice like… like you've always wanted to." He pulled back from her, resting his hands on her shoulders, staring her in the face. "I'll… I'll call Ace back up, I'll ask them if… if they still want me there, if… if they're still willing to put me through college… Thing's will be alright Jeannie. Thing's will be alright for you and the baby. I… I promise they will."

There was so much hope in his eyes then, so much belief, and she felt her own face fall, tears filling her eyes as her heart sank.

He didn't know.

Oh Jesus Christ, he didn't _know_.

"Jack…" She began. And he looked at her with expectancy. "Jack, there's… there's something you need to know." She said, her eyes casting down.

"What?" He asked.

She breathed out sharply, not even knowing where to begin.

"Jack, I… there's…"

Damn it, how was she going to explain this? How was she going to make him _understand_?

She opened her mouth to speak again, but suddenly she was cut short by the sound of Rory, yelling out.

"Holy shit!"

She looked up, and a gasp tore from her throat as she saw the hulking form of Batman, directly behind Jack.

She had no time for anything else as the vigilante reached out, quick as lightening, his hand landing heavily on Jack's own.

Jack's eyes went wide, and before he could react beyond that, Batman had grasped his fingers in his own, crushing down on them with vicious pressure, his other hand coming up and burying itself in Jack's hair, yanking him backwards with ridiculous ease.

Jack cried out, the sound a kind of high pitched yelp, and Jeannie could only watch in horror as the crusader dragged him away from her, swinging him around and slamming him with incredible force against the adjacent wall, still holding tight to his hand and hair. Again Jack cried out, and Batman tore him forward, slamming him back once more, and a third time before finally letting him go.

Almost immediately, he crumpled to the floor, and the vigilante wasted no time, reaching down, taking him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him up, backhanding him across the face, slapping him back the other way. And again, Jack cried, trying desperately to cover up, to block the blows with his arms. But Batman just swatted them aside, this time curling his hand in to a fist, rearing it back and laying it hard against Jack's jaw.

Jeannie pushed herself from the wall, feeling her entire frame shaking.

"Batman, stop!" She screamed, moving towards him.

But he wasn't listening.

He'd let go of Jack's shirt, letting him again collapse to the floor, and was now leaning over him, unleashing a barrage of blows over his head and back and face.

"Batman, stop it! STOP!" Jeannie continued to scream behind him, her voice breaking with the emotion of it.

But still he wouldn't.

He reached out, catching hold of Jack's arms, bringing them together and clasping both his wrists in one hand, jerking them above his head and pinning them to the wall behind, stretching him out completely, his legs still folded on the floor.

The vigilante formed his free hand in to a fist then, rearing it back, and a moment following, he was unloading it, against Jack's exposed face, in to his stomach and chest, hitting him over and over, relentlessly, each blow harder then the last. And with each one, Jack cried out, trying pitifully to squirm away, to tug his arms free. But it was useless against the far more powerful man.

Jeannie was shaking violently now, screaming so much that her voice had begun to go hoarse.

"BATMAN, NO! JESUES _CHRIST_ STOP IT! STOP IT! DON'T YOU SEE? DON'T YOU _SEE_? HE… HE ISN'T THE SAME. HE ISN'T THE _SAME_ BATMAN!"

But it seemed the vigilante was possessed, not hearing her, not caring, his brutality only escalating.

Blood had started to pour profusely from Jack's nose and mouth as viciously he was beaten.

"OH CHRIST, _STOP_ THIS! STOP IT _NOW_! YOU'RE… YOU'RE GOING TO _KILL_ HIM! DON'T YOU SEE?"

She ran forward, unable to take anymore, unable to bear the sight of it. She grabbed hold of Batman's cape, trying uselessly to pull him back, to make him stop. But he was impossible to move, impossible to pull away.

"NO!" She screamed. "STOP HITTING HIM! _STOP IT_! HE CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE! HE CAN'T!"

She wasn't going to get him to stop this way, and if she didn't do something soon, she feared he might kill Jack. She couldn't… she couldn't let that _happen_.

Without another thought, without hesitation, she rushed forward, past the crusader, and literally threw herself on top of Jack, right in front of Batman's line of fire.

"STOP IT!" She screamed again. "STOP HITTING HIM!"

Batman had caught himself, mid-punch, stopping the blow just short of landing on her.

"What are you…?" He began, angrily.

Tears were streaming down her face as she splayed herself across Jack's still prone form.

"Stop it!" She cried. "He isn't the same. Can't you see that? He isn't the _same_!"

He pulled back, looking down at her, at her reddened face and terrified but determined eyes. And for several, long seconds, he just stared, saying nothing, his one fist still reared back, the other still pinning the Joker's arms to the wall.

He blinked, and that's when he heard it.

This terrible whimpering, like a child.

He felt a kind of numbness run through him, and without really thinking, his hand let go the Joker's wrists, and he stepped back.

Jeannie watched him with distrustful eyes, slowly pushing herself up, off of the man beneath her. And as she did, Batman saw… saw the crumpled and devastated form of the Joker, lying there on the floor, a broken heap, his entire frame shaking, trembling uncontrollably.

And as silence filled the space between them, as the rage calmed inside his head, the vigilante realized, the terrible whimpering, it was coming from _him_, from the _Joker_.

He looked at the madman with widened eyes, huge and disbelieving. This… this wasn't _normal_. This wasn't what _happened_. Wasn't… wasn't how the clown _was_. Wasn't _what _he was.

He stepped closer, and instinctually, Jeannie stepped between them.

"Don't…" She said. "He isn't the same. Don't you see? _Listen_!"

He looked at her, confused, and then back at the Joker, curled in on himself, his arms over his head, trying to block blows which weren't even coming.

"Please…" Batman heard him cry, his voice weak and broken with tears. "Please S-S-Sir… I-I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry. I'll be good… I… I pro-promise I'll be g-g-good. Please do-don't… d-don't hit me anymore p-please… please… Please don't hit me any-an-anymore."

Jeannie looked back to Batman, shaking her head, tears still streaming from her eyes.

"He thinks you're his father. Don't you see? He thinks you're his _father_! He isn't the same! Something snapped. He's… he's not the Joker anymore. He's _Jack_. Don't you see it?"

Batman's eyes shifted to her, and then back to him, still trembling on the floor, _cowering_.

She was right, and he hadn't even realized it.

This wasn't the Joker. This wasn't him at all.

"Please…" He heard the man on the ground continue, pleading, begging, his voice desperate, terrified. "Please, I p-promise… I'll do what you s-say… I'll do whatever you say, I pr-promise."


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey everybody! So, just to start, again, huge shout out and thanks to my beta, TheMadCapLaughs for contributing hugely to this chapter. This story wouldn't be what it is without her. **

**So anyway, regarding this chapter, it's a LONG one folks. I thought about splitting it up in to two sections, but I couldn't find a good way to do so. So here it is. I hope you enjoy it, and remember, feedback and reviews are greatly appreciated and help me to keep going. So if you could take the time to share your thoughts at the end of it, I'd be eternally grateful. So, without further delay:**

**Chapter 15:**

_Jack didn't get back until late. He turned the key in the lock as slowly and quietly as he could; holding his breath as he did so. As it clicked open, he closed his eyes, silently praying his father would be asleep, or gone out for the night like he so often was._

_He'd been out with Jeannie. _

_She'd insisted he accompany her after school to help her pick out a dress for prom, telling him she was going that very day, and so was he. He'd protested, of course, but Jeannie was having none of it. She kept pressing the matter, saying it would be good for him. He'd stammered out the excuse that he was too young, that while everyone there would be eighteen and nineteen, he was still only fifteen. But she'd waved her hand and shook her head, reminding him that, fifteen or not, he was still in their graduating class; that technically he was a senior like her, and it was his prom too._

_When he'd still shown reluctance, she'd pouted and asked that he do it for her. And once she did that, he hadn't been able to say no. If Jeannie wanted it, then he wasn't going to refuse her. _

_She was the only person who ever showed any concern for what he wanted. And he wasn't about to deny her the same courtesy. _

_Afterwards, she'd asked that he come by and hang out at her house for a little while, which he'd also agreed to._

_She had a way of making him say yes._

_He hadn't told her there was no way his Dad was ever going to let him go to prom. That if it ever occurred to him that his son was attending a school dance - let alone with a girl - he would most likely beat him senseless and then lock him in his bedroom for the night, just like he always did when he was really mad._

_He didn't want to disappoint Jeannie. Didn't want her to see how pathetic he was. How afraid he was of his father. So he'd said yes. But now he had no idea how he was going to actually make good on that promise. It seemed impossible to him. The beatings usually stopped short of inflicting outwardly visible damage, but nonetheless, Jack feared that one day his father might lose control and snuff the life out of him. Much of his time at home was spent trying to ensure such a scenario would never arise. _

_If his father was home, he was in for a beating just for being late. But Jack had a lie ready. He was going to tell him that he'd gotten in to a fight after school and had missed the subway because of it. Physical prowess – physical _violence_ – was something his dad could respect. At least then the beating wouldn't be so bad._

_But if he knew the real reason, knew he'd been out with a girl… He felt himself grow nauseous at the mere thought. _

_Jack hadn't told him about Jeannie. He knew of her. Knew they were friends. But he hadn't told him they'd been dating, and that he now considered her his girl. _

_If his Dad knew that, he'd be done for._

_Slowly and with caution, Jack turned the knob, his eyes opening hesitantly as he pushed the door open, cursing it inwardly as it creaked on its hinges. _

_He could see right away it was dark inside, and he allowed himself a brief moment of hope that maybe his Dad wasn't there._

_The hope would be short-lived._

_He stepped through the threshold, reaching out to feel along the wall for the light switch. Then he heard a deft click. The room flooded with light, forcing his eyes closed. _

_He heard the door behind him slam shut, and his eyelids lifted to see his father, towering above him, looking livid._

_Jack felt himself freeze. His legs were about to give way. He stumbled back, slamming into the door behind, then looked up at his Dad, eyes wide. His father had been waiting for him all along. Waiting for him to stumble across the metaphorical tripwire he'd placed, carefully. He'd given him a few seconds of false hope then … SLAM. He should have known. It had happened before. That was just how his father liked it._

_He opened his mouth to speak, to explain why he was late, ready with the lie he'd so carefully planned. But nothing came out. His throat constricted and he just stood there, plastered against the door, knowing there was no use in running. _

"_You're late." _

_His father's voice was soft, but there was no mistaking that smirk; the anticipatory gleam in the eyes. Jack swallowed hard, willing himself to speak._

"_I-I-I'm s-sorry S-Sir." He managed, stuttering badly. "I-I k-know I am but I-I can e-exp-plain…" _

_His father stepped closer, and Jack shrank down. _

"_Let's hear it then, Jackie-boy." His voice remained soft. He raised his eyebrows mockingly._

_Jack cleared his throat, ready for the inevitable outburst. _

"_T-t-there was this g-group of g-guys who j-j-jumped me a-after… after school a-a-and I-I…"_

_His father smiled and leaned over Jack, one arm pressed against the door. _

"Really_, Jack? Is that so?" _

_Jack was pinned to the wall. He could smell Scotch and cigarettes on his father's breath. But his father wasn't drunk. No … if he was drunk, it would have been over by now. He'd have hit him, and that would have been the end of the matter. But when the bastard was sober, he simply loved to drag it out. To delay his gratification. Just like he was doing now. _

_Jack swallowed and nodded. "Yes," he said, trying to inject as much conviction into his voice as he could muster. _

"_Oh, I think you were _jumped_, alright," his dad leered, still smirking, folding his arms. "By that smarty-pants Reinking girl. You were out with _her_, weren't you?"_

_Without thinking, Jack began to shake his head no. _

"You lying little fucker_!" _

_An empty beer bottle whizzed past Jack's head right then, shattering against the door. Jack flinched, then looked up, his eyes now huge with fear. _

"_You _were_ out with that girl!"_

"_I … _but_ … I wasn't … I _didn't _…"_

_He never got the chance to finish as he felt the impact of his father's fist slam against his jaw, dropping him instantly to the floor. He received a swift kick in the stomach, and he cried out, curling in on himself as the breath was ripped from his lungs._

"_Don't _lie_ to me, Jackie-boy," his father hissed, quietly again. He grasped hold of his son's chin, squeezing his mouth together at the sides. _

"_Tell you something, Jackie - you see some _real _funny shit when you get off work early. You wouldn't _believe_ what I saw. A pretty young lady, no less, gallivanting around town with this worthless shrimp loser. Just like a coupla sweethearts. A _real_ picture, I tell you. Straight outta the _Weekly World News_, just like Bigfoot and those invisible guys you claim beat you up."_

_He let go of Jack's chin and shoved him back against the door. Jack felt his stomach lurch. He couldn't afford to be sick right now. The mood his father was in, he'd probably make him get on his hands and knees and clean it up with his tongue. _

"_So what were you doing with that girl Jack? Huh? _What were you DOING with her, I said_!"_

_Jack sucked in sharply, trying to get the air back to his lungs. _

_If he lied, he was dead. But if his father knew the truth, he was more dead. _

_Oh God…_

"_N-nothing…" He tried, his voice coming out a strained hiss. "Nothing S-Sir… We w-were… we were j-just h-hanging… hanging o-out…"_

"_Wrong answer!" _

_And suddenly he felt his father's giant fingers close like a vice around his wrist, yanking him up off the floor in one, swift motion._

_He spun Jack so that his back was to his chest, holding him up by the wrist, his arm stretched painfully above his head, his feet off the ground, all his weight hanging from that one limb. His other arm flailed uselessly._

_He was completely overpowered._

_Very suddenly his father's free hand came around, clamping tight over his nose and mouth, and he pulled Jack back, against him, stifling any movement on his son's part. _

_He leaned in, and Jack could now feel the hot breath against his ear._

_He could do nothing, held and stretched out like that. He felt no strength in his body, not when in the grip of his father, when he was handled as though he were some weightless rag doll. Handled as though he were nothing._

_Tears stung at the back of his eyes as he struggled for breath, the hand over his nose and mouth clamping tighter, the pain in his arm and wrist increasing tenfold._

_He felt like he was going to break, like he was going to be torn in two, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. _

_He was so completely weak, so completely useless and frail. _

_He blinked, his eyes huge and frightened, and he felt the tears fall from them, down his cheeks. _

"_You think you deserve that girl, Jack?" his father hissed against his ear. _

_When he failed to respond quickly enough, the hand holding his wrist above his head squeezed with even greater pressure, and Jack whimpered, more tears forming and falling._

"_Answer me!" raged his father. "You think you deserve that girl?"_

_He shook his head stiffly._

_His father chuckled with satisfaction. _

"_That's right, Jack. You don't deserve her. You don't deserve _anyone_. And you know why?"_

_Jack nodded, but his Dad didn't notice and he squeezed his wrist harder still._

"_You know WHY?" he roared, another whimper escaping his son's throat, but he didn't wait for an answer this time._

"_Because you killed my wife, you disgusting little ingrate! Do you think that's _fair_? That _you _get to have what I don't? That _you_ deserve to have what I don't? "_

_Tears stung Jack's eyes as he tried to shake his head. He could feel his entire body trembling, powerless in his father's hands. _

_His father continued his tirade. "You disgust me!" he raged . "I knew there was something wrong with you the day you came in to this world. Something not right. You're a goddamned curse on me Jack, a curse on everyone. You _pollute_ things, see. Make them worthless, impure. You've ruined _everything_ for me, boy. And now you think you deserve something _better_? Something _more_? Tell me Jack, what do you think's going to happen to that girl if you keep seeing her? You think you're going to make her life better? That you're going to bring her anything but misery?" _

_His father tugged on his arm once more, stretching him further. "Answer me, Jack!"_

_His son shook his head, his eyes closing as he tried desperately to stop the rush of tears. _

"_That's right," his father said. "You won't. Because that's what you _do_, Jack. You make people miserable, with your pathetic, miserable self. That's what you _are_. You don't deserve her. You ain't good enough for her, kiddo. But you're probably too selfish to see that, huh? Just like you've always been. Too selfish to think of anyone but yourself. You'll ruin her life, you little bastard, just like you've ruined mine! Like you ruin everything around you! If it weren't for you…"_

_His father's grip tightened even more. The pain was excruciating, and Jack was sure now the bone would snap. He choked out, pulling pathetically against the hold, trying without success to free himself, to even move. His Dad was so ridiculously powerful that he had no chance._

"_See?" spat his father. "You made me this way! You _made_ me do this! If you weren't so useless and selfish! I deserved a _real_ son, someone who would do me proud. Instead I got you. You can't do anything for me, can you? Nothing to be proud of in _you_, boy. _Nothing_ to brag about."_

_Jack wanted to apologize, wanted to say he didn't mean it, didn't mean to be such a disappointment, such a bad son. But he couldn't say anything, not with his father holding him like this, with his arm twisted over his head and a hand clamped over his mouth. _

"_You're _disgusting_." _

_All at once, he felt the grip on his wrist release, the hand coming away from his face, and he crumpled to the floor, collapsing onto his hands and knees. _

_His father stood above him, glaring, as his son quietly sobbed, curled up on the floor and trembling uncontrollably._

"_Goddamned _pansy_," he mumbled._

_A moment passed and he felt a hand burying itself in his hair, jerking his head back. His father crouched down beside him, yanking him so hard he fell half over onto his side._

"_You stay _away_ from that girl Jack. You won't pollute her life too. I see you with her again, and I'm gonna kill you. _Understand_?" _

_Pain flared in his scalp as his father tugged even harder on his hair. _

"I SAID, understand_?"_

"_Y-yes…" Jack sobbed, his voice shaking. _

"_Yes _what_?" _

"_Y-yes S-s-sir…" Jack choked. _

_His Dad glared at him a long moment then pushed him, scoffing loudly. Jack collapsed on to his stomach, his face flat against the dust ridden floor, his tears soaking the cheap wood as he cried against it._

_He knew he shouldn't. He knew he was only making things worse on himself by crying. But he couldn't help it. He was so scared. _

_His father pushed the ball of his foot against his shoulder, giving him a nudge. _

"_Get up, _pansy_! Get up and quit that cryin'." _

_Jack tried, pushing himself to his hands and knees, wiping pitifully at his face._

"_GET UP!" His Dad screamed._

_And he forced himself to his feet, still shaking. _

_He stood with his head down, his shoulders slumped, defeated. _

_His father frowned at him. _

"_You really are pathetic," he muttered. "Can't even stand up for yourself." _

_Jack said nothing. _

_He wasn't about to tell his Dad there was no way he could. Not when the man outweighed him by a hundred pounds and had five inches on him. Not when all he'd ever gotten from fighting back was a trip to the hospital, broken bones and a broken face, dying inside just a little bit more each time. _

"Come here_."_

_Suddenly his father had grabbed him around the arm and was pulling him with ease across the room, towards the closet. _

_Jack's eyes went wide, his heart beating painfully in his chest._

No, no, no, please not the closet_, Jack's mind screamed. _Oh God, please_…_

"Get in there, shitstain_!" _

_Jack couldn't help it, couldn't help fighting against his Dad's hold then, trying to get away, knowing it was useless. But fear controlled him in that moment._

_It only made the man angrier. _

"_I said get _IN THERE_!" He jerked Jack back towards him then backhanded him across the face, splitting his lip wide. Jack went limp, knowing that if he continued to struggle, he'd only make it worse. His father shoved him without effort in to the tiny space, slamming the door shut. _

_A moment later, and Jack heard the key rattling in the lock, and he knew he was trapped._

"_You make any noise in there…" His father called through the door. "And I'll make sure you pay, got it?"_

_Jack didn't answer. _

_It was a game his father played. Telling him not to make a sound, then asking a question. In the past, when Jack had made the mistake of answering, his father had flung open the door, dragged him out, and had proceeded to beat him again. He heard his Dad snicker on the other side. "Attaboy," he said. _

_And then there was the sound of footsteps, moving away, and then of another door opening and slamming shut._

_He'd left. _

_He'd be gone all night. _

_Jack knew he'd be lucky if his Dad came back by morning. _

_Usually, when he stayed out like that, he just went straight to work after, not returning home until early evening._

_There was no light in the closet, the space no bigger than four feet wide and two feet deep. Barely enough room to sit comfortably._

_He rested his arms atop his knees, burying his face against them. Hot tears scorched his cheeks, dampening the knees of his trousers. He always found it hard to breathe when he was locked in here._

_God, how he wished Jeannie were here. He thought he might be able to endure this if she were. _

_She'd want to know where he'd been. Why he hadn't shown up to school the next day. And he knew he couldn't tell her the truth. It was too pathetic. Too humiliating. _

_He sucked in a sharp breath. Oh God, what if his Dad was _right_? What if he was only making Jeannie's life worse; what if he ruined _her_ like he ruined everything else?_

No_. He shook his head vigorously. No, that couldn't be the case. It was all he had to cling onto. He wanted to live. To keep going. He wanted to keep going because of __her__. Because if the world had people like her in it, maybe it wasn't such a bad place after all. _

_Jeannie had told him repeatedly that he made her happy. Told him he was her best friend, and that she was his._

_He'd never had a best friend before. Or any friends, for that matter. _

_She said he gave her something wonderful and unique, something beautiful. _

_He never knew what she meant, really, but her face would light up when she said it. She always seemed so happy around him._

_And around her, that was the only time he ever smiled._

_It didn't matter what his father said. What he threatened. He wouldn't stop seeing her. He wouldn't._

_Without her, his life wasn't worth living anyway. _

_He curled in on himself more, trying to steady his breathing._

_He tried not to think of how small the space was, or for how long he'd likely be stuck here. If he had a panic attack now, he'd be in major trouble. _

_But he couldn't really help it._

_There would be no sleep for him tonight. Probably all day tomorrow too, if his father didn't come back. More fear griped him as the thought crossed his mind that his father might _never_ come back; that he would be left here to starve to death. Deep down, he realized that was impossible; that his father had to come back at some point in order to go to work. But in those first, terrible moments of uncertainty, all kinds of dire possibilities entered his head. _

_God, he wished Jeannie were here._

_Even if only for a little while._

_He wished she were here so much._

His eyes shifted from one face to the other. Stoicism. Disgust. Concern. Confusion. Blankness. He laughed lowly, amused by the extremity of each emotion; his ability to draw a host of different reactions by doing nothing more than just _sitting_ there. Satisfied, he leaned back in his chair and grinned.

"Well looky!" he exclaimed, delighted. "The gang's all here! And to what do I owe the _pleasure_ of such _lavish _attention?" His brows raised in expectancy of an answer.

Jeannie shifted, looking to her right, motioning Rory to her side.

"I've brought your son to see you."

The Joker's eyes slid to the boy. He detected fear in him; fear hidden behind an air of forced inscrutability. _Brave little boy,_ the Joker thought.

He flicked from Batman, to Robin, and again to Red Robin, still smiling.

"And you felt it necessary, for this _particular_ venture, that you bring the entire _family _along for the picnic, hmm? Say, who forgot the devilled eggs and lemonade?" He looked back to Batman, laughing softly.

"It was my decision, Joker," said the vigilante.

"Oh, ho, ho." He laughed louder. "Afraid I'll corrupt the dear child's mind, hmm?"

Batman said nothing, his mouth setting in to a thin line.

But the Joker could see the anger in his eyes, and he smirked.

"It was Rory's choice, actually," Jeannie interrupted suddenly. The Joker abruptly turned back to her. "He wanted to meet his father."

She stared at him, warning in her eyes. For a few, long seconds, they held each others gaze. The Joker's eyes burned bright, his glare intense, unmoving and without humor.

Jeannie knew exactly what he was doing. That he was trying to make her look away. It was a game he'd been playing over the past, several weeks. Ever since the incident back at her apartment. When, for a very brief time, Jack had returned. But it was quickly following the reemergence of the man she knew that he again disappeared, only a few, short minutes after Batman had stopped beating him, and the Joker returned. The presence of the vigilante had seemed to make him forget all about her and Rory, and he'd begun to laugh loudly, hysterically, talking fervently and nonsensically, launching almost immediately in to some long-winded speech about how apropos it was, that the crusader should show up just then, displaying no recollection of what had just happened. All signs of Jack were gone in that moment, and he became to Jeannie a person wholly unrecognizable. But even so, even with the horror she'd witnessed in the acts he'd committed that night, she hadn't given up. She'd continued to come here, every day she could, and visit with him. She'd been initially shocked that the Joker had allowed it, had been willing to see her. But it became clear quickly the reason; that he was attempting to drive her off, deter her from her endeavor, one such tactic the one he now employed, staring at her with a hard and still gaze, saying nothing; a tactic of intimidation. And at first, it had worked. She hadn't been able to hold his eyes, unsettled by their coldness, by the fact she could see nothing behind them; no emotion, no _feeling_.

But in the last, few visits she'd begun to notice that gaze falter, as she'd talked with him more and more about his past, and he'd begun to recall things, the gaps in his memory beginning to close up. She now noticed the coldness was slipping, revealing glimpses of confusion… and _pain_.

He was _pretending_. Trying to keep her at bay by acting as though her presence was having no affect on him. And he was _good_ at it. _Very_ good. She'd thought for a long while that maybe these visits were useless, that there was no way she was ever going to get through to him, all because how of masterfully he'd erected this façade. The way he'd been able to control what his eyes conveyed was astounding. An ability which, Jeannie thought, would put the world's top actors to shame.

But ever since that initial visit, maybe even since that first time they'd encountered one another in that coffee shop – God, it seemed so long ago now! - her presence had been causing fissures; deep cracks in the armor he'd been wearing, revealing not a so much a monster, but a man - deeply wounded, deeply troubled.

He'd forced himself into a state of apathy, she realized, as a coping mechanism for all the trauma of his life. He'd convinced _himself _he didn't care, that he felt nothing for anyone or anything. Because he'd _had _to. He'd had no _choice_. She thought it likely he'd have died from grief otherwise.

But it was all still there, buried deep within. All the pain and confusion and sadness. It hadn't died in him. He'd just locked it away, so far down even _he _didn't believe it still existed.

But he'd faltered, and she'd seen it, in that briefest of moments. It had risen to the surface oh so fleetingly before submerging itself again. Now she wouldn't look away, no matter how unrelentingly those chilly green eyes bored into her. Eyes she recognized so well.

She refused to turn from him.

And it was him who glanced away then, turning his attention to Rory.

He regarded him a moment, a frown adorning his features. It vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by his characteristic grin. Jeannie felt her hackles raise.

"_My _boy…" he mused. He locked his fingers together and placed them under his chin, giving an impression of deep thought. His eyes narrowed and looked Rory up and down. "According to _her_, anyway." He tipped his head in Jeannie's direction, but didn't look at her.

"He's your son, Joker." Batman interrupted. "Without question."

The Joker turned towards him, his face twisting in to a mildly annoyed scowl.

"Says _who_?"

"Says scientific _fact_. DNA testing." Batman replied quickly. "And pure logic. Your wife was with no other man during the period she would have been pregnant with him. He's _yours_."

For a long, few seconds, the Joker said nothing, clearly pondering his next move. And then he blinked, and once more the smile slid in to place.

He shrugged and turned back towards the boy.

"If you say so." He cocked his head, and allowed his smile to grow deceptively warmer, more cordial. "So, _Rory_…" he said. "How old are you, _exactly_?"

Rory looked back at him, hesitating a moment, folding his arms over his chest.

"I'm fourteen," he replied steadily, although his expression belied his underlying unease.

The Joker smiled again, outright friendly this time. A _convincing_ smile. The kind he used to reel others in to _trusting _him.

"Fourteen!" he exclaimed, his brows rising in apparent surprise. "A big lad for fourteen, methinks."

"I'm _fourteen_," Rory repeated, more insistently this time.

Batman shifted, glancing briefly at Rory before looking back to the Joker, fixing him with a hard gaze.

He hadn't liked the idea. Exposing a child to this lunatic wasn't the wisest thing to do; under _any_ circumstances. He'd made no bones about his feelings to Rory's mother. But Jeannie had insisted it was what Rory wanted, and the boy had insisted the same, even going so far as to compare Robin's exposure to the Joker with his own. Batman had been quick to shoot this down, explaining there was no similarity; that Robin was highly trained to deal with madmen and hardened criminals.

But once it occurred to him that neither Rory nor Jeannie was intent on backing down, he'd suggested that a few of his team be allowed to accompany them for the meeting. Just in case. Neither Jeannie nor Rory had seemed to have a problem with that.

He was jarred from his thoughts by the sound of the Joker's voice.

"You know, I don't even _know_ how old I am."

"You're 39, Joker." Batman replied crisply. "You were born May 27th, 1972."

The Joker eyes widened. "Good lord! _That_ old? But I don't look a _day_ over twenty-one! It's called living _murderously_ well, my dears. Well, that and Crème de la Mer. But honestly, I don't remember. And I don't make a habit of trusting the words of others concerning myself."

"We know that, Joker. What's more…"

"What's _more,_ Batsy," the clown interjected, "perhaps you've never learned _proper _social etiquette, but as you can see, I'm _trying_ to have a conversation here. And much as I'm certain it _stings_ you to not possess the _entirety_ of my focus, perhaps you might find it within your capacity to actually _shut up_ for more then five seconds?"

Batman stared back, giving nothing away. The Joker's eyes stayed on him only a moment more before going back to Rory.

"… And anyway, age is wholly irrelevant. I only was asking to determine what grade of school the lad finds himself." He cocked an expectant eyebrow at the boy.

"Well…?" he pushed, when the boy failed to respond. "What grade are you in?"

"Eighth… Eight grade."

"Well see, that _proves_ it." The Joker said immediately, slapping his hands against his knees. "You can't be _my_ son, very _obviously_."

At this he received only blank stares and looks of disbelief.

The Joker shrugged. "The thing is, when _I _was fourteen…" He pressed his hands against his chest, his eyes growing big. "I was in the _twelfth_ grade, and well _beyond_ the level in my grasp of… well, of _every_ subject." He looked at Batman directly then. "Or so I've been _told_."

When still he failed to elicit a response, he returned to Rory, and sighed.

"The point _is_, while obviously you're above _average _intelligence Rory, which - let's face it, kid - isn't saying a great _deal_, you aren't a _genius_, now are you? Whereas _I_, most indisputably, _am _a genius. And I was already well _aware_ of this fact without the help of _Batsy _or anyone else telling me of my supposed _advanced_ placement in _grade_ school." He paused, smiling at the boy in mock affection. "But you, my dear, since you find yourself moving through the ranks of _formal_ education at roughly the same pace as everyone _else_, I think it's safe to assume you haven't inherited my brilliance. Any child of mine would have shown at least _flashes_ of my great intellect, no?"

For several seconds, nobody said anything.

Suddenly, there was a loud scoffing, and everyone turned to find Robin, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the Joker with complete disgust.

"Oh _please_," he retorted sardonically_. _ "You really do think _highly_ of yourself, don't you? Look where you are. Locked away in an _insane _asylum. It would be funny, if only it weren't so _pathetic."_

The Joker leered at him, chuckling softly.

"Only for as long as I wish to be," he replied. "My _little_ boy wonder. So very brash. Just like the one I _personally_ released from this mortal coil … oh, it seems so long ago now! But I should think I could say the same of _you_. Was it not even a _year _ago I had you at my most _generous _mercy? I say generous because I could have quite easily killed _you._ I think, in fact, you have yet to _fully comprehend_ just how _close_ you came to dying. Had I not felt so inclined to administer to you my antidote, you would have been dead within an hour of your being exposed."

The Joker leaned back, watching in amusement as Robin's face twisted in rage, his teeth clenching tight, his arms falling to his sides and his hands forming to fists.

He stepped forward, towards the Plexiglas window, his posture threatening, and the Joker's amusement only seemed to grow, his smile broadening.

"You rotten sonofa…"

The Joker laughed loudly, cutting off the rest of his words.

"_Please, _darling…" he gasped with mock concern. "There are _innocents_ in our midst."

Robin stopped, straightening. He glanced at Rory, the boy looking between him and the Joker, looking confused and unsettled. And then he brought his eyes back, glaring at the Joker with unhidden hatred.

The Joker's own gaze moved to Batman, grinning.

"And you were worried what _I _might do to the boy." He said, looking back to Robin. "I think it's your _own_ with whom you should be concerned."

Robin's lip curled in disgust, stepping back from the window. He was fuming.

"For your sake, _clown_, you'd better _stay_ in there."

The Joker again laughed, slapping his hands down on his thighs and leaning forward.

"Oh, I _like_ you kiddo," he said, delighted. "It's so _cute_, how thoroughly you've bought in to your own self-induced _hype_." He stared intently at Robin, his smile growing wry. And then he leaned back. "But a word of caution to you. Confidence will bring you many _things_, but an overestimation of your own _abilities_ is what leads to your oft-_precarious_ circumstances. Most especially because that overestimation is caused solely by your relation to _another_. The gifts of one's _parents_ are not always automatically inherited by the offspring, as you should know only too well."

Robin's brow furrowed.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He spit.

And the Joker's smile grew to a grin. "Case in point," he chuckled, tilting his head towards Batman. "_Not_ very smart."

Batman felt his hands curling to fists, managing to keep the sudden tension from his face.

"Not very _observant_…" The Joker went on, his eyes shining with mirth. "Further example… take my _son _here…"

"I thought you were adamant he _wasn't_ your son." Red Robin finally cut in.

The Joker shrugged, still keeping his eyes on Rory. "For your own peace of mind, we'll refer to him as such. Rory, is there anything you actually _excel_ at?"

Rory stared blankly for a moment, taken aback by the suddenly direct attention.

"Goodness, this is tiresome. Do I have to spell it out? Mathematics, science, literature, _philosophy_… Any particular field of study you show _exceptional _ability in?"

"I…" Rory began. "I like my English class. And history. History's fun."

The Joker looked incredulous.

"_Fun_?"

"Yeah." Rory answered.

The Joker's eyes widened.

"And fun for what _reason_? Are you amused by the absurdity of humanity's inflated sense of self-worth, by their need to record their every action, as though it actually _matters _a jot_?_ Or do you find it humorous how, despite this fact, they continue to repeat themselves, including their so-called _mistakes_, yet never fail to act shocked and oh so _appalled_ by the revelation of their own nature?"

Rory looked entirely confused now.

Jeannie shifted uncomfortably, struggling with whether or not she should intercede, disliking the way the Joker was undermining their son's intelligence. If he knew how much he was acting like his own father, then maybe he would stop.

"I just… just think it's interesting." Rory said after a moment.

The Joker nodded, rolling his eyes up and shrugging.

"See, rage runt?" He looked at Robin. "If this kid _is_ my son, he certainly hasn't received my superior intellect, and it's doubtful he boasts _any _of my many talents. So you shouldn't assume you're so great, just because your, uh, _family_ is."

Robin bared his teeth, and stepped towards the Plexiglas. "What are you _talking _about?" he hissed.

The Joker started to laugh.

"Don't worry, slow kid, you'll figure it out eventually." He turned his attention back to his son. "Really… it's better for you, being nothing like me. Because if you were, I'm afraid I'd have to kill you. It just wouldn't _do_, you see, to have that kind of competition."

And again he began laughing, until abruptly he was cut short.

"Sports." Rory said over his hysterics.

The Joker ceased, his eyes narrowing.

"_Excuse_ me?"

"Sports." Rory repeated. "I'm really good at sports."

"_Sports,_" the clown repeated flatly.

"Yeah. You know, football, basketball, track, swimming… all that stuff. I'm good at all of it. I've even set a bunch of school records in track. I'm a fast runner."

The Joker stared at him, saying nothing, and then his mouth twisted up on one side.

Jeannie felt her concern grow, her fingers curling under her palms. She could see his sudden displeasure.

She'd been afraid of this. Scared that if he found out Rory was an athlete, he'd somehow be reminded of when he was a boy, and how it had almost always been the jocks who bullied and beat him up. She feared he'd then associate their son with those people, look at Rory as someone who would have hurt him as a child.

From the look in his eyes now, it appeared that was precisely what was happening.

The Joker leaned back, sticking his tongue in the side of his mouth.

"Oh, so you're a _jock_?"

Jeannie looked down. "_Damn it,_" she thought.

The Joker pressed on. "So tell me Rory, are you one of _those _types? Does it give you _great_ satisfaction, lording it over the weaker among you? Targeting those specifically who pose no threat to you?"

He smiled suddenly, looking intently at the boy.

"No, no. I think not. You get your satisfaction the _opposite_ way, don't you? But equally as selfish, hmm? You pride yourself on doing the _right_ thing, coming to the aid of those less _fortunate_ then yourself. Isn't that right, Rory-poo? I'll just bet that makes you feel _so_ good inside. Like a real _man_. All those poor dorks and sad-sacks, simply _begging _for absolution from the likes of _you._ I bet you feel like Mother Theresa. So is that it? You're cordial towards those from _all _walks of life?"

"I… have a lot of different kinds of friends." Rory nodded. "I don't care about cliques. And it _isn't _selfish. I'm friends with these people because they're cool."

The Joker laughed.

"Oh, of course not. I was only joking, dear. The name fits and all that."

Rory looked at him skeptically.

"So… an equal opportunist then? I suppose that's _one_ thing we have in common. You _befriend_ indiscriminately, I _kill_ indiscriminately. We have no criteria, no qualifiers or standards to be met. _Everyone's_ fair game, yes?"

"That's not true Joker." Batman interrupted, pulling the madman's attention his way.

The Joker looked at him quizzically, cocking his head to the side.

"Oh?"

Batman shook his head.

"You don't _want_ to kill me. You've never even seriously tried."

The Joker frowned comically.

"Don't push it."

For a moment he stared at Batman, as if to say "I'm not kidding." And Batman stared back, equally as unflinching. But then a wide smile slid in to place, and the Joker turned back to Rory.

"Hey, kid? I have an idea. Perhaps you should consider applying for the position of Robin? Because something tells me there's going to be be a vacancy soon. _Very_ soon." He grinned wickedly at Robin, whose hands clenched to fists. The Joker flicked back to Rory, ignoring the looks of loathing directed his way.

"Really, you're a perfect fit. Defender of the _meek_, friend of the _weak. _How charming! All while making yourself feel like a certified _badass_, hmm?" Again he looked at Robin, a knowing expression in his eyes.

"_He'll _probably make you dye your hair black, though," he continued, tilting his head at Batman. "He did with the one I offed, anyway. Served him right, being a closeted ginger and all. But a _goldilocks_ Robin! Now _that_ would be interesting. Hey, I wonder – does blond hair pop in the dark?"

Robin stepped towards the window, slamming his fists against it.

"You wouldn't _dare _speak this way if there weren't a wall of _glass_ between us!" He raged.

The Joker only laughed.

"I think you know me better than that, chum."

Again Robin slammed his fists against the window. "Then tell the guards you have no problem with me coming _in_ there!"

The Joker doubled over at this, his hysterics increasing. He was working them over. Working _all_ of them over. With his ridiculously accurate insights, he was playing them all for fools and loving every second of it. He looked like some overexcited child, his eyes gleaming, almost joyful.

This was where he was best; where he could dissect and dismantle even the most mentally hardened individual.

Where he could _destroy _you.

This was why he was probably the most dangerous man Batman had ever encountered. When he was behind glass. When _he_ could talk to _you_, but you couldn't get to _him. _When you couldn't stop his dialogue with a deft right-hook or kick to the stomach.

Verbally, the Joker could unravel anyone. He'd done it countless times. Psychiatrists driven mad. Hardened rogues and heroes alike sent into fits of impotent rage. Regular civilians talked into killing themselves, even from afar.

And that's why he'd been hesitant to come here.

The Joker was only playing right now. But he could easily decide to turn his abilities towards more nefarious intents. And once he decided to do that, things would become _very_ dangerous, for _all _of them.

He had to halt the lunatic. To put a stop to this nonsense before the clown decided it was time to raise his game to the next level.

It would have been impossible before, when he knew nothing of the madman. But now he did. Now he knew plenty. And he wouldn't hesitate to use it.

"It's understandable Joker…" he began, before Robin could say another word. "Why you'd feel threatened by Rory."

The Joker's laughter cut and he looked up at the crusader, his brow furrowing.

"_Threatened_? _Hahahahaha!_ You _do_ have quite the sense of humor!"

And Batman nodded.

"Sure. Threatened."

The Joker scoffed.

"Don't be _ridiculous. _Come _on,_ Batsy. You're better than that. Threatened by _what, _exactly? His moderate intelligence and similarly moderate _athletic_ prowess? I'm not even threatened by _you,_ sweetcheeks."

Batman shrugged.

"No. But it might make you uncomfortable, knowing you were _just_ the kind of child Rory would have protected, had you been in school together." He smiled faintly. "_That's_ why you're making fun of him, isn't it? Why you're mocking him? It's humiliating to you, isn't it? That you were one of those kids who would have needed protecting?"

The Joker stared at him incredulously, shaking his head. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said stonily, all amusement gone from his voice.

"Yes, you do," Batman replied evenly. "I _know_ you remember, because your wife told me you do. How you used to routinely get beat up by children bigger and stronger then you. How they used to harass and make fun of you. _Bully_ you. Athletic boys, like Rory. Your son's just the kind of kid who could have easily done the same; could have pushed you around and beat you up, and there wouldn't have been anything you could do about it. Because Rory's a lot bigger and stronger than _you_ were at 14, isn't he?"

He paused a moment, taking in the Joker's expression. He'd let the mask of unfazed calm slip, and he could see his rage, boiling just below the surface.

"Except Rory _wouldn't_ have done that to you, Joker," Batman continued. "He would have _helped_ you, would have kept those _other_ children from hurting you. The fact is, if you'd had Rory there when you were a boy, you'd have been spared a lot of suffering. Your former classmates certainly wouldn't have been so inclined to attack if you'd had a _really_ physical kid like you son protecting you, would they? He would have helped made your life _better, _Joker. And yet, all you can do now is hurl insults at him?"

The Joker looked on the verge of exploding, his mouth turned severely in to a frown, his brow heavily furrowed as his hands clamped down tight over his knees.

He said nothing, but continued to stare grimly at the Bat.

A burst of contemptuous laughter sounded off to the side. Batman turned and saw Robin, his arms crossed over his chest, smirking.

"Oh, what's the matter Joker?" he grinned, clearly delighted by this turn of events. "Cat finally got your tongue? Here I was, beginning to think you might actually be_ tough_. But _now_ I find out you couldn't even handle a bunch of _dumb jocks_?" He shook his head. "I Guess my first impression of you was right then. You're a bit of a _wimp_, huh?"

"Shut it Robin," snapped Tim, disgusted by Damian's immaturity.

"_You_ shut it, lame duck."

"Been waiting all night to use that one, have we?" Tim retorted. "Grow up."

"Oh, _please,_ like he doesn't deserve it." Damian rolled his eyes.

"You should never make fun of someone for being bullied. It's not right, no matter who it is."

"Who are you, Dudley Doright?" Robin snapped. "Give me a break. This … this con-artist _is_ the goddamned bully!"

They continued to bicker, oblivious to the Joker, who held pure fury in his eyes now. He could feel himself trembling with rage, imperceptible to anyone else.

But then he breathed sharply, letting it go slowly, his eyes moving back to Batman.

"You want to talk personal history, huh?" he began, regaining his composure. "At least _I'm_ not still crying over Mommy and Daddy. Things I can't _change_."

Batman felt his entire frame go rigid, his hands tightening to fists.

He _knew._ Of course he did. He'd known for a long time.

The Joker smiled, seeing the vigilante's sudden discomfort, despite his best efforts to keep it from his face.

A relief washed through him at having deflected the attention. He chose to ignore it.

"Still…" he pushed. "I suppose I shouldn't make mention of such things. Family secrets and the like. Eh Robin?"

Again Robin stepped towards the window, his expression pure rage.

"What do you _know_?"

And now the Joker was laughing again.

"Nothing! Nothing!" He gasped through his sudden mirth. "Please, forget I ever mentioned it. It's nothing, really."

Damian slammed his fists against the window.

"Tell me, damn you!" he screamed. "Or I swear, I'll make certain you never _walk_ again!"

The Joker bent over, slapping his knee, his hysterics turning to a sharp hiss as they grew more intense.

He put a hand up, trying half-heartedly to reign in his amusement.

"You bastard…" Damian fumed through clenched teeth. "Tell me…"

"Oh, you silly, silly little boy…" The Joker managed, still doubled over.

"TELL ME!" Robin screamed, again slamming his fists against the Plexiglas. "What do you KNOW?"

Finally the Joker's laughter began to die, and he straightened.

"Calm… heeheehee… C-calm down." he said, still giggling. "It's nothing." He smiled, warmly this time. "And even if _it_ is something…" he continued, "I promise, you have no reason to worry. I'd never do _anything_ to jeopardize the _fun_ we have!"

He was grinning now, and Batman regarded him carefully.

He knew. The Joker really _knew_. Not just about himself, but also Damian. Hell, he probably knew the identities – not to mention the histories - of Nightwing, Red Robin and Batgirl too. He could see it in his face.

And yet, he also could see honesty, the same, disarming truth the madman sometimes had about him. Those times when he reminded the crusader of a child.

He meant it.

He wasn't going to tell anyone anything.

Batman could see that. Could see he'd only mentioned it as some kind of defense mechanism, to deviate the attention away from himself.

It wasn't a _threat_, it wasn't an attack.

And he laughed now because of their reactions; at how serious they'd all suddenly become over something he'd essentially meant as a joke.

But Robin couldn't see the childlike playfulness. He saw only a malicious gesture, and he intended to pay it back in kind.

The Joker continued to smile.

"Alright?" he asked, as though truly wanting the boy to know he meant no actual harm.

And he didn't.

Not now.

Damian sneered at him, stepping back from the glass.

"… You mention dead parents. Being unable to get over things you we can't change, as though you're any _different_." Robin started, and suddenly he smirked. "Funny, because from what _I_ hear, you've got some unresolved _Daddy_ issues yourself. Isn't that right, _clown?"_

It was almost immediately the smile went from the Joker's lips, his entire expression falling.

Batman felt his eyes grow big, and he turned quickly towards his son. "Robin!" he snapped. But he went ignored.

"So what's the matter Joker? Daddy never _loved_ you enough or some crap like that? Whatever it is, it's clear he didn't do the _best _of jobs, 'cause look where _you_ wound up." And then he laughed.

"Robin! _Stop_!" Batman yelled.

Damian turned toward him. "_What?_" he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Be quiet. _Now_." Batman's voice was heavy with warning.

Robin scoffed. "_Why_?" he demanded. "The freak just _threatened_ us. It's only fair…"

"_No_!" Batman cut him short. "You have _no_ idea what you're doing; what you're talking about. So you'll keep your mouth _shut _from now on."

Robin stared back incredulously, his lips parted in mild shock.

"I… _what_? You're actually trying to _protect _this psychopath?" He started in disbelief. "What, his father used to slap him around a little and suddenly I'm supposed to feel _sorry_ for him? Give me a break. So his old man might have cuffed him a time or two. That's _nothing_ compared to what _I _had to deal w…"

"I said _be quiet!"_ Batman roared, cutting him short. "You are _ignorant._ You speak of things _beyond _your knowledge and understanding, and I won't tolerate you saying another _word_."

"Oh God…"

They stopped, turning, looking towards Jeannie.

"Oh God, he's…" She started again, and now their eyes moved up.

The Joker had looked away from them, had looked down.

Suddenly he was slumped in his chair, his hands curling to fists in his lap, his head bowing more.

And he looked somehow smaller then, more fragile. Curling in on himself.

A posture Batman recognized all too well. One of insecurity; of _fear_.

Like a child trying to protect themselves. To hide. To disappear.

He looked wounded, crumpled, like all the assuredness had drained from his body. Suddenly he didn't look like the Joker at all. He looked…

"What's the matter with him?" Tim asked, taken aback by drastic change in demeanor.

At this the Joker's eyes lifted, darting aimless about the space.

"W-w-wh-where… wh-where a-am…?"

Jeannie's mouth pulled in to a frown.

"Oh God…" She breathed again, and now she'd pressed her hands to the window. He'd changed back again. She knew it from his eyes.

"Jack. Jack, it's okay baby, she soothed, pressing her hand to the glass. "It's okay." eyes flicked towards her, as if noticing her for the first time.

"J-Jeannie?" he asked disbelievingly, his tone confused, disoriented.

Jeannie had to fight hard to keep from breaking in to tears then and there. She nodded.

"Yes, baby. It's me. I'm here."

He stared at her wide eyed, blinking, as if he didn't fully believe what he was seeing.

"Jeannie?"

Again she nodded.

"It's me Jack. I'm here."

"Oh _please…"_ Damian scoffed, rolling his eyes. "He's totally faking…"

"_Quiet_!" Bruce hissed at him, bringing his eyes back to the Joker, who looked up at the two of them now, his gaze moving quickly to Tim and then Rory.

"W-w-who…" He looked truly frightened now. "Who a-are these p-p-pe-people? J-Jeannie? Wh-who a-are t-th-they? W- what …what is th-this p-place? Wh-why am I… w-why am I h-here?"

She felt her heart pounding in her chest.

Oh Christ, how was she supposed to explain _this_ to him? How was she supposed to make him understand why, exactly, he was locked up in this terrible place? He hadn't regressed since that time in her apartment; he wouldn't have any idea what had happened.

"You're… you're in a hospital baby," she said gently, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"A… a h-hospital?" He looked at her, confused.

She nodded.

"But … but … why are the windows so small?" he stammered, glancing around. "Th … there are bars on the windows and g..glass in … in front of me and …why aren't I wearing my pajamas?"

"You're here so you can… so you get better, Jack. So we… so we can help you get better." God, this was hurting.

His face lined in sudden anxiety, in fear, his lips falling open, curling in to a slight frown, his brow furrowing heavily.

He looked down, at his lap, at his hands rested there.

He lifted them, staring more intently, the chains clinking, and all at once, his heart began to beat faster, his breath growing more shallow.

"Jeannie…? Jeannie… wh-where am I?" He repeated, and when he looked back up at her, there was utter panic in his eyes. "W-where am I J-Jeannie? W-who… who are t-these pe-p-people?"

"They're… they're friends Jack." Jeannie tried to sound calm, but she couldn't keep the slight tremor from her voice. "They're here to help you."

But it was obvious from his expression that he didn't understand.

"Jeannie I… I w-want to go h-home Jeannie. Pl-please, I w-want… want to go home!"

Oh God, she felt sick.

"Please J-J-Jeannie! I w-want to go h-home. _P-please_ take m-me home!"

Her entire expression fell, and she could barely hold the tears which threatened at the back of her eyes now.

"Jack you've…" She paused, having to look down, having to look away from his terrified eyes to compose herself. "You've _got_ to stay here baby. Just… just for a little while."

There was a thud against the Plexiglas, and Jeannie looked up with a start. Jack's hands were pressed against the glass, the chain of his manacles having smacked against it.

His eyes were huge and glassy, like a petrified animal. She could see the tears pooled in them.

"P-please Jeannie…" he begged, his voice trembling and frail. "P-please t-take me home. _Please_, I don't want to b-be here. Please d-don't… don't l-leave me here!" He blinked, and the tears fell from his eyes, streaking down his face.

And now she couldn't help it, her own tears falling, and once more she had to look down, unable to stand the sight of him, to see him locked up and chained like that. She shook her head, trying to choke down her sobs.

"Jeannie!" he cried out suddenly, falling forwards out of his chair. "Jeannie _please_…"

He fell against the window, his forehead pressing flat as he stared desperately at her. His hands came up, his palms pushing once more against the Plexiglas.

"_Please_…" he implored. "Don't leave me here… please…"

She could barely look at him. A sob tore from her throat and she put her hands over her mouth. He continued to plead.

"Can't you… c-can't you hear me?"

Another sob forced itself past her lips.

"Oh God, Batman, please!" Jeannie was frantic now. "He… he can't be _in there_ like this! He can't be! There must… there must be something we can do!"

Batman was transfixed by the sight before him; this broken, deflated shell of a man, who only minutes before had been brimming with confidence and life, jousting expertly with the verbal ripostes of five different people, and more often then not, coming out on top. And now he could barely speak, so stricken was he with fear and confusion.

This wasn't the same man.

He glanced over at Tim, and then Damian, both staring in shock. Rory, to all appearances, was equally taken aback.

"I don't have the authority to get him released…" he said to Jeannie, looking downcast. "I'm sorry."

She stared at him wide eyed, her expression pleading.

"But he… he can't be in there! It's… it's too dangerous! Please, isn't there _anything_? A legal loophole, maybe? God, just look at him! _Look at him!_ He isn't the same man!"

"He'd have to be given a clean bill of health before he could even _qualify _for a release, Ms. Reinking." Batman paused and sighed. "He's serving _innumerable _consecutive life sentences without parole. It would …"

"Mrs. Napier!" she shot back. "My… my husbands still _alive_!"

"… Mrs. Napier. Even if he was declared mentally sane, there's no guarantee of his getting out. His case would go to the board for review, and it's highly unlikely they'd … Most likely, he'd be transferred to Blackgate Penitentiary. And if the Council ever voted to re-instate the death penalty …"

Jeannie's eyes flashed with horror. "Oh no. Oh God, _no._ They … they wouldn't, surely?"

Batman nodded grimly. "They might at some point. And in the event he _was_ miraculously granted parole, what if he reverts once he's on the outside? What if he turns on you and Rory? We don't know yet whether he'll _ever _be able to change permanently. He could go for five, ten, twenty years without incident, and then … wham. He'd need to be monitored every step of the way for the rest of his life…"

"But there's got to be _something_ we can do!" Jeannie pleaded, cutting him off. "We can't… we can't just leave him in there! We have to help him! We have to _save _him!"

"Batman!" red Robin interrupted, and they both looked to him before seeing him gesturing towards the viewing room.

And they looked, only to find Jack, having slid down the window, slumped forward, his forehead almost to the ground, his body shuttering. He was crying, sobbing, a low whimper rising up from him.

And he could be heard, whispering to himself.

"Please… please w-wake up… wake up…"

Jeannie moved back to the window and fell to her knees, touching the glass.

"Jack… Jack… I'm here. I'm _here,_ sweetheart. Please baby, l-look at me. I'm _right here!" _

He shook his head, still slumped forward.

"Why…" he cried. "W-why won't… won't y-you t-take me… take me h-home? Don't you want me anymore?"

Tears fell faster down her face.

Oh God, she couldn't take this. She couldn't.

"Please Jack… _please_ look at me baby!"

When finally he lifted his eyes, they were bloodshot with tears. His pain was overwhelming. God, if the other inmates got wind of this …. She felt a chill of terror. What was she going to say to him? What was she going to _do_?

"… I'm… I'm gonna get you out of there, baby. Just… it's just going to be a little while before… before I can… Okay? Alright, Jack?"

But her words didn't seem to console him. Only seemed to make it worse.

His face broke, and he turned from her, his hands coming up to his head, grasping it and pressing down hard, a horrible, tortured whine rising up from his throat.

He began to lean over, sinking to his side.

"Jack… Jack, I'm right here!" Jeannie cried, standing, pressing herself against the window. "Jack, look at me baby! Please look at me!"

"Don't…" she heard him beg, his voice reedy, pitiful. "Don't leave me here…"

Suddenly the door behind him burst open, several orderlies piling in to the room, heading straight for him.

"No!" Jeannie yelled. _"No! Leave him alone!" _

He'd turned at hearing a door slam against the wall, and fallen back, trying to push away.

But before he'd had a chance to get to his knees, they were on him, grabbing him and pinning him to the floor.

A terrible cry escaped his throat as he tried in vain to pull free of their hands. But they only shoved him back, pushing down on his shoulders. One of them grabbed roughly at his arm, tearing his sleeve up, readying the syringe in their other hand.

"_JEANNIE!"_ he yelled, desperate. _"Help me! Oh please God help me!" _

She banged her fists against the window, imploring them to stop, but they weren't listening. The one holding his arm struggled to hold him still, forcing the limb straight and locking it between his elbow and thigh.

"_Where are you Jeannie? Come back. please! Pl …"_

He was cut off as the orderly jabbed the needle into his upper arm.

For a moment longer, he struggled, pulling weakly at their hold.

And then, very suddenly, he fell completely still, his body going limp, his cries dying off.

The orderlies stood, pulling him up by his arms and dragging his now unmoving form from the room.

Jeannie slammed her hands against the window, over and over.

"You can't …" she whispered. _"Y-YOU CAN'T…!"_

Batman reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her.

"There's nothing we can do, Jeanette," he said softly. "It's probably better this way. He should be out a while."

But she shrugged away from him, wiping at her eyes as her tears grew blindingly thick.

"Leave me alone!"

She pushed past him, still sobbing, and went out into the hallway. Rory looked between them only a moment, before taking off after her.

Tim swiveled round to face Damian. "Look what you did!" he spit. "Thanks to you and your big goddamned mouth, _everything_ went to hell. Who _knows_ what'll happen now. If he doesn't revert, he's probably gonna get killed."

"So you're saying you _want _him to stay as the Joker? _Idiot!_"

"What I'm _saying_," Tim emphasized, "is that I don't want Mrs. Napier to lose someone she loved … _loves_ … very much. Someone who probably _isn't_ the Joker, if you'd cared about paying attentioninstead of trying to have the last damn word. We've _all_ lost people we care about, Robin. We're _never_ gonna get them back. And the least we can do is help the people who might get their loved ones back some day."

"Red Robin is right, Damian," said Batman, folding his arms.

"I… I didn't…." Robin muttered, confused, shaking his head. "I didn't mean for… I didn't mean for that to happen. I had no idea… what… what _happened_ to him?"

Batman breathed out heavily through his nose, looking down, his hands clenching to fists.

"It's deep trauma…" he began, sternly. "He wasn't just… _slapped_ around." He looked hard at Damian, who stared up at him, wide eyed. "His father _tortured _him. Severephysical beatings, mental and emotional degradation, extreme _cruelty_. He was made to think of himself as _literally_ _worthless_. You consider his brilliant intellect, the intricacy with which he sees, how a mind like his would process and _deal _with that kind of treatment, and you _might_ start to grasp the extent of what he suffered. What you just saw there was the result. A man so badly abused, and so _scared _because of it, that he can't even look another person in the eye, can't talk without stuttering." He walked towards his son, staring down at him. "So next time Robin, _think_ before you shoot off at the _mouth_."

And without another word, he walked past, down the hall, after Jeannie and Rory.

/

**Don't forget to review guys! And thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed the last chapters as well! I wanted to give a shout out to ****dididouli**** for your great reviews too. I want to reply, but I think you've got your account set to not receive private PM's, so I'm not able to. But just know, I really, really appreciate your taking the time and effort to tell me what you think. And the same to everyone who's taken the time to leave feedback!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16:**

She'd seen them. Just as she was being pulled round the corner, she'd seen them dragging the Joker's unconscious body towards where she knew the infirmary was. And she'd lost it, almost instantly, struggling against the hold the two, oversized orderlies had on her thin arms, screaming at the top of her lungs for them to let her go, that her puddin' needed her.

Which in turn only caused them to hold her more tightly, and begin to pull her forcefully along the corridor.

"Lemme' GO!" She cried, twisting and tugging. "Lemme go you bastards! What did ya do to him? What the hell did ya DO to him?"

"Nothin', you crazy fuckin' broad!" One of them spit, struggling to hold her still.

But Harley wasn't about to buy that. She knew how Arkham operated. She'd worked there, for Christ's sake! She knew how the orderlies and the guards targeted Mr. J specifically, more then any other patient there, how they would beat and torture him.

He always just laughed about it, told her not to worry, but she couldn't help it.

Those pigs had no _right_ touching her puddin' like that! They weren't even worthy of breathing the same _air _as him!

"You sonsofbitches!" She continued, not calming in the least. "Lemme GO or I swear I'll make ya'll regret the day you were BORN!"

And it was then that, from around another corridor, Jeannie appeared, sobbing in to a tissue, Rory following closely behind, a look of worry and confusion plastered across his features.

And behind them came the massive form of Batman, looking grim and displeased.

The orderlies halted at the sight of the vigilante, still holding tight to her.

Jeannie didn't even seem to notice them, too consumed by her own dismay as she walked past, her hysterics more apparent as she came nearer.

As soon as she'd moved far enough by them, Rory having done the same, one of the orderly's smile and started laughing lowly.

"There's the reason for your boyfriend being fucked up, sweetheart." He jeered.

And Harley whipped her head around, staring at him with wide and furious eyes.

"What the hell are ya talkin' about?" She demanded angrily.

The orderly's smile widened.

"Don't you see the resemblance toots? Who woulda' guessed the Joker had a preference, huh? That freak, you'd think any kind of nasty shit would get him goin'." He laughed.

And the other man joined in.

"I always thought he was queer myself." He said. "What with the way he's always talkin' about you know who." He only somewhat lowered his voice.

Harley looked between them, her anger now mixed with confusion.

"What… what are ya bozos talkin' about?" She spit. "What the hell are ya talkin' about?"

"Ain't you heard _Dr_. Quinzel…"

And she fought harder against their hold.

"SHUT UP! Don't you call me that! Shut the hell up!"

The man just laughed.

"That _fine_ mama cryin' her eyes out, the one that just walked past… rumor has it she's the Joker's woman on the side."

Harley's eyes shot wide, her struggling at last ceasing.

The other orderly chuckled.

"From what I hear tell, she's _more_ then just that." He said.

"What are you…" Harley started, clear shock in her voice. Her head whipped back, eyes searching for that woman. And she spotted her, near the end of the corridor, standing there with her face buried in her hands, shoulder's heaving. "What are you t-talking about?"

The orderly leaned in close, lowering his voice.

"I hear tell she's the Joker's _wife_." He whispered, than stood back, watching in amusement as Harley's entire expression fell, her body beginning to tremble.

"N-no…" she began, shaking her head. "Th-that's impossible."

And the orderly shook his head back.

"Heard she was married to him _before_ he became the Joker." He continued. "That she's, like, the one link to his past and shit, the one who's gonna blow it all wide!"

Harley continued to shake her head no.

"No… n-no. You're… y-you're lyin'. You're lyin'! Take it back! Take it BACK!"

"No we ain't Quinn. Where you think the honey was just comin' from? Huh? She was visitin' _him_ sweetheart. She was in there talkin' to him. Been doin' it for the last, couple weeks. And from what I hear, he's been obligin'. Acceptin' her comin' here and everything."

"Y-you're both a bunch a LIARS!" She yelled. "Shut up! Just stop talkin'! Shut UP!"

And she began again to struggle against their hold, pulling harder.

That's when she saw Batman, followed closely by Robin and Red Robin.

"Batman!" She screamed. "Batman, WAIT!"

And he turned towards her, putting his hand back to stop his two sons.

"What… what are they talkin' about Batman? What are they sayin'?" She gasped desperately.

"It's nothing Harley. It doesn't concern you." He said flatly.

She shook her head vigorously.

"No. NO! Why… w-why are you here? What are… what are _they_ doing here? What's going on? You better tell me B-Man, or I swear, I'll…"

Batman sighed heavily, casting his gaze to the floor a moment before looking back up.

"Let me speak with her." He said, and the tone in his voice was enough for the orderlies to comply without protest.

They let her go and the vigilante was quick to take her arm, pulling her to the side.

"Harley…" he began, his voice low so that only she could hear. "listen to me very carefully. If ever there was a time you should let go your obsession with the Joker, now would be it. Things are happening with him… things I can't explain to you, and…"

"What the hell are ya talkin' about Batman?" She spit, tugging at the grip he had on her arm.

He held her fast, looking down.

"Harley, there's a chance that soon the man you _think_ you're in love with may no longer exist. That's all I can tell you. You need to let go of your obsession. For your own good, _let it go_."

She looked at the vigilante with wide and horrified eyes.

"N-not exist?" She stumbled. "W-what… what are ya talkin' about? What do you m-mean? M-Mistah J's not s-sick is he? Oh God, p-please, tell me he's not sick!"

Batman shook his head.

"No Harley. What I'm saying is… it may be the exact _opposite _of that. He may be getting _well_."

But still her eyes held confusion.

"W-well…?" She whispered. "I… I don't understand? W-what do ya mean w-well? There's… there's nothin' wrong with Mistah J. There's nothin' wrong with him…"

Batman looked at her hard, for a long moment saying nothing, and then he shook his head.

"There's a lot wrong with him Harley. That's something you once knew. Something I think, deep down, you still _do_. He needs _help_ Harley. And he may finally be getting it. For his sake and yours, you need to just forget him. Let it _go_. If you really love him… you will."

She stared at him with huge and disbelieving eyes, filled with heavy concern.

And he stared back, his gaze level, before he turned, pulling her back towards the waiting orderlies.

Within a few feet of them, and she started to struggle.

"N-no…" She started. "NO! Y-you're lying! Damn it! You're LYING! T-tryin' ta separate us! Tryin' ta pull us apart! I… I won't let you! I won't _let _you!"

Batman breathed in deeply, frustration filling him at the girl's stubbornness, and regret.

He wished she could see. He prayed to God that eventually she would.

But he couldn't risk telling her anymore.

He couldn't risk her interfering in any way.

This was too important.

There was too much at stake.

"Treat her _right_." He hissed lowly as he handed her still struggling form back to the orderlies.

And they nodded dumbly up at him, swallowing hard as they took Harley from his hands.

"I WON'T LET YOU DO THIS! YA HEAR? I WON'T LET YOU!" Harley continued to scream, even as the orderlies began pulling her away, back down the corridor towards her cell.

"Who is _that_?" Damian asked, watching the crazed woman as she was pulled from their sight.

"That's Harley Quinn." Tim answered. "Harleen Qunizell. She used to be a psychiatrist here. The Joker twisted her mind after she was assigned his case. Turned her in to a sycophant. Made her think she loves him."

Damian looked up at him, eyes going slightly wide.

"A doctor? _That_ woman was a doctor?"

Tim nodded.

"Afraid so."

Damian looked disbelieving.

"But how can that _be_? She sounds as though she has the mentality of a four year old girl!"

"Like I said…" Tim answered. "The Joker twisted her mind. He manipulated her and broke her down mentally until she was reduced to what you just saw. It's why he's so dangerous Robin. It's what makes him our most dangerous opponent. What he did to her… it's just the tip of the iceberg, just a small example of what's he's actually capable of."

Damian folded his arms, looking agitated now.

"Hmph."

"Don't disregard his words Robin." Batman stepped in suddenly, and his son turned towards him. "Remember, you underestimated the Joker once already, and it nearly got you killed. He's more then appearances would have you believe. _Much _more. The physical foe is far from the most dangerous. Mental attacks, emotional attacks… those are the kind that can cause the most damage."

Damian blinked, than nodded.

"But… you don't mean to tell me she and the Joker are romantically _linked_!" He asked after a moment.

And Bruce shook his head.

"She's obsessed with him. Obsessed with the feeling of power he gives her. And she's mistaken it for love. The Joker regards her as a source of amusement, nothing more. But she'll do anything he tells her to. She's devoted to him, completely. And she too has to be considered highly dangerous for it."

Again Damian nodded, looking back in the direction they'd dragged the hysterical woman.

Today, he thought, was a day of learning.

/

_He stood in the same place he always did, every Monday through Friday, right around 2:30 in the afternoon._

_He would show up a half an hour early, every day, without fail, and wait for her last class of the day to finish._

_And he would spend that time leaned up against a big oak tree, right outside on the front lawn, every day in the same spot so there was no chance of her missing him, or him her. _

_It was warm today, he noticed, but not too muggy, like was often the case in Gotham. __He didn't know what it was about days like this, sunny days, that made him feel so good._

_He'd said to Jeannie once that he knew the scientific reasoning behind it, how UV light was necessary to the growth of most things. __But then he'd paused, thinking on it a moment, and said he didn't really think that was it at all, that he thought the light made people happy because it was like a promise, one you _knew _was real, and that one thing was enough to make everything else seem alright. _

_Jeannie had tears in her eyes afterwards, he remembered, and he hadn't understood. __He'd been worried he'd somehow upset her, started apologizing, and she'd shaken her head and told him no, that he hadn't done anything wrong, that he shouldn't apologize. __She'd told him she was crying because she thought he was so beautiful. _

_He still wasn't really sure what she meant, but he remembered how she'd taken him in her arms, pulled him close and held on to him for a long time. __And that she'd been smiling. _

_And if she was happy, that was all that mattered._

_He watched as, slowly, students began to stream out of the building, and he stood more at attention, his eyes scanning over each face for hers. _

_People hurried by him, not paying him any attention really. _

_It usually seemed, whenever anyone bothered to look up and their eyes fell to him, they would pause, if only for a moment, and stare in apparent alarm._

_Jeannie told him it was his height that caused it, that it likely intimidated them to see someone so tall. _

_He had a hard time believing that._

_Intimidating wasn't a word he would use to describe himself._

_He wasn't sure, but he had a feeling she was just trying to make him feel better about people seeing how strange he was._

_There were more people coming from the building now, and he was certain soon he would find Jeannie among them._

_He stood patiently, his hands holding to the box of blueberry muffins he'd picked up for her on the way here. _

_He knew she loved them, and he hoped it would make her happy._

_More students appeared, and he continued to watch, when he felt a sharp tap along his shoulder._

_The thought briefly passed through his mind that somehow he'd missed Jeannie and she'd snuck up behind him. __But the thought died quickly as he turned and, standing inches from him, staring directly in to his face, was his father. _

_The panic was immediate and all consuming, the strength seeming in an instant to sap from his body, and he felt sure his knees would buckle beneath him._

_The man's face was twisted in pure rage, and a terrible, sudden nausea struck Jack. _

_He was going to be sick. __He was going to…_

_Oh God, he couldn't think…_

_Please, what was… how… what was he supposed to do?_

_His father didn't give him the chance to know, reaching out with lightening fast hands, oppressively powerful hands, tangling in Jack's shirt and pulling him forward._

_The box of muffins fell from his fingers, breaking open on the ground, its contents spilling out, and suddenly Jack felt himself being shoved backwards, slammed hard against the oak, and the pressure of his father's heavy hands, pressing down on his chest._

_And suddenly it was as if nothing had changed. _

_These last, few months with Jeannie had been the first time in his life where he went more then a day without being hit, without being slapped or punched or kicked. __The first time in his life where he wasn't terrified every moment could be his last, or felt ill with constant dread. _

_There'd been moments in those last, few months, where Jack found himself actually able to relax, to let go…_

_All of that was shattered in an instant._

"_You _disgusting _little shit!" __His father raged, leaning hard in to him, and Jack gasped, both in fear and with the weight against his chest. __His Dad's hand shot up, burying itself in his hair and jerking his head harshly to the side. _

"_I've got you now." __He breathed against Jack's ear. _

_And Jack felt his entire body begin to tremble, a desperate sob escaping past his lips as he was torn from the trunk and forcibly pushed to the ground, on to his knees and then his back._

"_Pa-p-pl…." __He tried speaking, tried begging his father to stop, but no words formed, his mouth suddenly dry. He stared up wide eyed at the enraged face, and he knew in that moment it was over. __It was all over. _

_He'd been a_fool_to think he could ever escape this man, that he could live without him. _

_To think his father would let him go._

_He could already feel tears as they slid from the corners of his eyes, falling in to his hair. __And he kept wondering why. __Why was God so cruel to him? __What had he done to deserve such cruelty? __He'd rather have not had these months with Jeannie at all then to have the promise of a life with her torn so viciously from him. __To experience, for the first time in his life, an actual sense of safety, of… of _happiness_, only to be robbed of it so quickly, so suddenly._

_Another sob tore from his throat, and he wished he'd never been born. _

_He couldn't take this._

_God, why... _why _was he so _wretched_?_

_What had he done?_

_What had he done to never be allowed anything _good_? To be allowed only _this_?_

_It was as though he couldn't breathe, a horrible emptiness seizing his heart._

_He felt suddenly alone. Alone completely. And another sob choked out, louder this time as his despair grew._

_Please, don't... don't let this be. Don't let his happen._

_His father sneered at him, fingers buried deep in his sons shirt as he pressed him to the ground, leaned on top of him and pinned him._

_"Did you really think I'd just let you _leave _like that, Jackie-boy?" He hissed in a whisper against his ear. "That I'd let that..._bitch _steal you from me?"_

_Jack's head shook, more tears forming and falling._

_"N-n-no, n-no sh... sh-she's no-not a-a-a, sh-she's not a..."_

_"Stop _stammering_!" His Dad cut him short, slapping him hard across the face. _

_And Jack couldn't help it as another sob pushed past his lips, his tears now blindingly thick._

_"Pathetic fucking pansy!" He father spit. "I've barely touched you and you're already blubbering like a baby! What're ya _crying _for Jackie?"_

_He slapped him again._

_Jack whimpered, trying to turn his face away. He could taste blood in his mouth, and he felt at once nauseous. _

_"Well go_on _Jack!" His father continued. "Answer me! Why're you crying? I'm here to _help _you Jackie-boy. I'm _saving _you. Don't you get it?" _

_He grabbed his sons jaw, squeezing down on his cheeks and forcing his face towards him._

_"That Reinking girl's the one to blame for all this Jackie!"_

_Again he tried shaking his head._

_"N-n-no, n-nooo..." He cried, his voice broken and frail._

_His father nodded._

_"Shh, shh, shh... Jackie, it's okay son." He said quietly, patting him lightly across the cheek. "It's okay. I know you're in pain. I know this hurts. But it's for your own good. Don't you see? You wouldn't be feeling so bad if that girl hadn't lied to you, if she hadn't given you these... fanciful ideas that you could actually succeed with a woman, let alone one like_her_. She fucked things up for us Jackie. For you. Don't you get it? I've been trying to prepare you son. Trying to make you see. You can't get hurt if there's nothing for you to lose. You're hurting right now because that bitch fooled you in to thinking she actually_cared _about you, in to thinking she was actually going to_stay_with you."_

_He shook his head._

_"She _called _me Jackie. She told me where to come and get you, told me she just couldn't stand to be around you anymore, couldn't stand having to_take care _of you anymore."_

_Jack stared at him with huge eyes, tears pooling at their corners, continuing to seep down, and his head shook._

_"N-n-No..." He stammered. "N-no, t-th-that's not t-t-true. Th-that's not true."_

_His father smiled, smug._

_"Oh yes it_is _Jack. I got the call this morning, her going on about how it was fun at the beginning, like having her own pet. She thought it was_cute_how needy you were. But then she started to see how much work it really is. How fucking _useless _you actually are, how incapable of doing _anything _on your own you are. She told me she couldn't stand it anymore. She practically _begged _me to come and take you off her hands."_

_Jack's breaths came rapid and shallow now, erratic._

_He felt abruptly faint, dizzy, and his head shook again._

"_N-nnno, n-no, y-y-you're… y-yyyou're l-ly-lying…" He struggled to get the words out, his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth. "Y-yyou're l-l-lyi-ing." _

_His father shook his head._

"_No I'm not Jackie-boy. I'm not lying. That girl you so _worship_? She's a backstabbing _bitch_! I tried to warn you. To keep you away. She gave you _expectations_ boy. Made you think you could actually be _wanted _by someone." He laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. "Nobody _wants _you Jack. Nobody in their right fucking _mind_ would want anything to _do_ with you. I mean… just _look_ at you!" He regarded his son with apparent repulsion. "You fucked up Jackie. You fucked up. _I'm_ the only one whose ever gonna take care of you. I'm the only one whose ever gonna be willing and able to handle the God damned _train wreck_ that you are!"_

_He buried one hand in the collar of Jack's shirt, lifting his head and shoulders from the ground, bringing his face close, and Jack could now smell the whisky on his breath. _

"_Who is it that's always provided for you Jack? Who is it that's always made sure you had clothes on your back and food in your stomach? _Huh_! _Answer_ me boy! Who was it that protected you? Kept you safe from the outside?"_

_Again his father slapped him across the mouth._

"Answer me_!"_

"_N-no, nn-no…" Jack cried. "D-d-don't… p-pl-please l-let… ll-l-let m-m-me g-go… l-llet mm-me gg-g-go…" _

"_Well that's what I get, breakin' my back for a sniveling, good for nothing piece of shit like _you_." His father continued, ignoring his pleas. "First chance you get and you turn your back on me, run off with some little do-gooder _slut_. The kicker being, you're too fuckin' _stupid_ to see she's using you! Makes her feel _good _I guess, being nice to the_ retard_!"_

_Jack's head shook._

"_N-no…t-th-tha-that's n-n-nnot… n-not t-t-true…I-i-it's nn-not…" His hands came up, grasping weakly to his father's thick wrists. "P-please… l-l-llet m-mme gg-go…"_

"_It's true alright Jackie-boy." His Dad leered, leaning down harder. "She doesn't want you. She _never_ wanted you. You were just a distraction. Something for her to do." He laughed. "Maybe she wanted to see what it would be like having a _baby_."_

_Jack felt sick. _

_This wasn't true. It _couldn't_ be true._

_Oh God, it couldn't, _please_._

"_Y-y-yyou're l-llying… y-y-you're l-lying…" He cried._

_And now he tried desperately to pull away, turning to the side, wanting to break free of his father's grip._

_But the stronger man held him fast._

_Oh God, he had to get away, he had to get _out_ of this. _

_He pulled harder. _

_He Dad just pulled him back._

"_Stop _struggling_ Jackie. I'm here to _save_ you. I'm gonna take you _away_ from all this. From all these _false_ promises!"_

_Jack shook his head._

"_N-no… no… Yo-you're lying. You're…"_

"_It's for your own _good_ boy. You can't have this. This kind of life, it isn't _meant_ for you. The only place you belong is with me Jack. That's the _only _place you belong."_

"_N-no. L-let me go! Y-you're l-lying. You're LYING! Let me GO!" Jack's voice rose and suddenly he lashed out, his hand striking upwards, aimlessly, desperately. _

_Somehow he hit his father's face._

_Mistake._

_The older man raged, and with an accuracy born from cruel intent, he snatched both of Jack's wrists in one hand, slamming them down hard above his head, his other taking hold of Jack's face, squeezing his cheeks tight together._

"_What's _this _Jackie-boy?" He hissed. "Got a little _fight_ in you now?"_

_He increased the pressure of his grip, and Jack couldn't control the whimper of pain which pushed past his lips._

"_I guess that's just the bitch filling your head with more lies, huh? You think you can get _away_ from me boy? You think you have_ any_ chance against me?" He laughed. "Well you're about to find out just how _wrong _you are Jackie. Just why it's never any good to get your hopes up."_

_And suddenly he pressed his entire hand down across Jack's face, his palm flat against his nose and mouth, pushing his head back. _

_Jack felt panic race through him, thrashing violently against his father's hold. But it did nothing as the man tightened his grip, squeezing to the point of agonizing pain, and Jack choked and sputtered, trying desperately to breathe air in to his lungs, to pull his arms free, to do _something_, _anything_... Oh God, why was this happening?_

"_So maybe I _am _lying Jackie." His father said lowly. "Maybe you're right about that."_

_He grinned down cruelly at his son. _

"_But I'm tellin' the truth when I say this is for your own good Jackie. You can't make it out here. You can't handle it. I'm bringing you back home boy. And this time I'll make _sure_ you stay put." His grin widened, and he chuckled. "And who knows. Maybe that Reinking girl'll finally get some _sense_. Come round to _me_. And then she can be your _Mommy_ Jack. Hmm? Doesn't that sound good? Yeah, I think it does. We'll be one, big, happy family. What'dya say Jackie-boy? You as the obedient son, me and that girl as the _adoring_ mother and father. Hey, if you're good Jackie, maybe I'll even let you watch when we _fuck_."_

_Jack nearly lost it then, pulling with all his strength to break free. But still, it wasn't enough, and a terrible scream tore from his throat, a mix of fear and anger and pain, the sound muffled by the hand over his mouth. _

"_What's that Jackie-boy?" His father leaned in close. "You got something you wanna say?"_

_He pulled his hand away suddenly, and the scream burst forth from Jack's throat, loud and tortured and despairing. Tears continued to stream relentlessly from his eyes, and his entire body shook._

_His father only laughed. _

"_Ohh, ho, ho… Did I hit a nerve Jack? Poor baby."_

_And Jack continued to scream, to yell and pull at the ridiculously powerful hand, pinning his arms down, his legs held by the weight of his father's body atop them. _

"_Keep crying Jackie. _They_ ain't gonna help you." He motioned with his head to the passing students, who stared gape-mouthed while hurrying by. "Nobodies gonna help you. See? Cause they don't wanna get _hurt_."_

_He increased the pressure of his hold on Jack's wrists, and Jack's wailing choked off in a gargled whimper of pain. _

"_Aww, poor baby. Don't cry. It's okay. Here…" The older man reached with his free hand, taking up one of the fallen muffins. "Maybe this'll help."_

_And suddenly he was crushing the pastry against Jack's face, pushing and dragging it, smearing it across his eyes and his nose and his mouth. _

_And Jack continued to scream, turning his head violently from left to right, trying to escape, to somehow get away. _

_Why…? Why was God so cruel to him? Why give him a glimpse of joy only to tear it away so suddenly, so brutally? _

_What had he done? Oh God, what had he done? _

_It was worse now… So much worse, knowing what he was losing. _

_The experience of happiness… to have seen it, to have touched and felt it… to have _known_ it… only to be told he could never _have_ it. _

_Why allow him that sliver at all? Why allow him any _hope_? _

_It seemed infinitely more cruel to him then if he'd always lived without it, if he'd _never _known any kind of love… _

_He'd been made a fool… a joke… he was being laughed at. _

_Stupid, pathetic freak. _

_That's all he was._

_He should have known. Should have resigned himself to his place._

_Love wasn't meant for the likes of him. _

_He should have just _known_ that. _

_But instead he needed to be shown._

_His father was right._

"_You know how I _actually_ found you Jack?" His father said, trying now to shove the broken and mashed pastry in to his mouth. Jack resisted, turning his head away, and so his father took hold of his jaw, squeezing down as hard as he could on his son's jowls, forcing his mouth open with a choked cry of pain. "You're right. I _was_ lying when I said that little slut of yours called me. She didn't. Not like it matters. She'll leave you eventually, once she realizes how you're _ruining_ her life. And then where will you be Jackie? Huh? Where you gonna go? That's why I'm here son. I'm saving you the trouble. You won't have to worry about those things, cause I'm gonna take you away from all this." _

_He continued to force the food in to Jack's mouth, and Jack began to choke on it, pulling weakly now at the hold his father had on his arms, trying to turn from the assault. _

_Oh Christ, it was over for him. He'd been lucky to get away from his father that first time. And that's all it had been. His father would never let him go again. He'd keep him locked away in that room all the time, keep him imprisoned. _

"_Ohh, Jackie-boy, you're so God damned _predictable_!" His Dad laughed. "I've been watching you boy. Thaaat's right. I know _everything_ you've been doing these last, few months. Everywhere you've gone, everything you've done. You know you can't keep secretes from your Dad Jack."_

_Jack stared at him with wide and devastated eyes._

_No… _No_! This whole time… This whole _time_! _

_He hadn't ever really been free at all. He hadn't..._

"_I've seen you come here every day Jackie-boy. Every day, at the same, _exact _time, so _fucking_ predictable. All so you can walk that girl home. And awwww, isn't that just s_o sweet_?" He grabbed his face again and squeezed. "Like something right out of a fairy tail. God you make me _sick_, you ignorant little shit!" He leaned in close to his son's face then, just inches away. "But don't you worry boy. I see how… _concerned_ you are with that girl. And I promise I'll take _real_ good care of her for you."_

"_N-N-NNO!" Jack felt a surge of panic and anger. He couldn't let his father near Jeannie. He…he wouldn't! "NO!" He again cried, pulling with every ounce of strength he had._

_And somehow, he pulled his wrists free of his father's grip, and without thinking, began to strike at the man above him, blindly, desperately. He _had_ to do this. He had to do it for Jeannie. He wouldn't let his father near her, no matter what. Even if it killed him. He would do everything he could to stop this man._

_He hit his father in the face, in the neck and the chest, over and over, and his father leaned back, enraged at first. _

"_I-I w-won't let you!" Jack cried. "I w-w-won't l-let you h-hurt her!"_

_And now his father's anger turned to mild agitation, and then quickly to amusement as he realized how weakly his son was hitting him._

_He laughed loudly. _

"_You're pathetic." He grinned, before snatching both of Jack's wrists in his hands again, once more slamming them down above his head. "Come on, Jackie-boy, you know you can't beat me. Just calm down… calm down and let me take you…"_

_But Jack continued to struggle, to push and pull. _

"_N-NO… NO!" He screamed. "L-LET ME GO! I-I W-WON'T L-LET YOU H-HURT HER!"_

_He began kicking his legs, trying any and everything to get the stronger man off him, writhing violently_

_And now his father's anger returned, and he increased the pressure of his grip, nearly crushing his son's thin wrists as he jammed a knee hard in to his stomach. _

"_I'll do whatever the hell I LIKE!" He seethed in to Jack's face. "And there isn't... ANYTHING…" he rammed his knee forward, knocking the wind from Jack as it sunk deeper in to his abdomen. And Jack gasped loudly. "you can do about it. You pitiful _weakling_! What are you gonna do about it Jack? Huh? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?"_

_And to demonstrate his point, he tightened his hold, leaned down harder, and now Jack couldn't move at all, forced in to complete submission, forced still._

_He continued to try, to try and pull free, to fight… But he was held fast and strong, his efforts yielding no results._

_And he soon realized the reality of his situation, and his screams of rage and defiance turned to anguished sobs._

_Oh God, he was never going to see Jeannie again. _

_He couldn't… Oh Jesus Christ, he couldn't _protect_ her. _

"_P-please…" He whimpered now. "P-p-please d-don't… d-don't h-urt her, p-please…"_

_His father's head shook._

"_Oh no Jackie-boy. No. See, you need to be taught a _lesson_, I think. This new found _defiance_ in you… that just doesn't _cut it_, I'm afraid. That kind of… _insubordination _needs to be stamped out."_

_Jack shook his head desperately._

"_P-please…p-pl-lease d-don't… ddon't…I-I-I'll g-go with… w-with you, j-just please…"_

"_I'm not done TALKING Jackie!" His father spit, letting go one wrist to rear a fist back and slam it in to his son's face. And then again. And now Jack fell completely still, his only words a frail and defeated whimpering. _

_His father curled both hands in the collar of Jack's shirt now, lifting him up._

"_You're coming with me either way, Jackie. So no use _begging_." _

_Suddenly he leaned backwards, off of his son, standing and jerking Jack to his knees in the process. _

"_Now GET UP!" He ordered, before cocking his foot back and swinging it forward, sinking it deep in to Jack's stomach. _

_Jack immediately doubled over, gasping wildly, sharply as the air was torn from his lungs. He sputtered and coughed and would have sunk down further if not for his father holding him up. _

"_What, do I have to do _all_ the fucking work around here?" The stronger man seethed. He reached forward, burying his fingers in Jack's short hair, yanking him up by it, and Jack cried out as pain flared across his scalp._

_And without a word, his Dad began to drag him across the grass, towards a car he'd rented, Jack having to stumble behind to try and lessen the agony of his hair being torn at the roots, tears continuing to stream down his face. _

_Jeannie stepped out of the building, on to the front steps, and the first thing she noticed was all of the people gathered around, standing and staring, others walking quickly by, seemingly disturbed. And her eyes moved to where they were all looking, resting on a spot by the old oak tree which decorated that buildings front lawn. _

_The spot where Jack always met her._

_Oh Jesus, no…_

_Her heart immediately sank, a horrible panic taking her as she took in the sight. _

_Jack being pulled, _dragged_ by his hair, by his father across the grass, Jack struggling to keep pace, losing his footing every, few feet, his father jerking him roughly back up each time. And with each pull, Jack would cry out in pain. _

_And nobody was doing anything! Nobody was doing a God damned thing! They were all just standing around, watching, or pretending like they saw nothing at all._

_A young man, a man younger then _they _were, clearly in distress, clearly being attacked, and all they were doing was _watching_?_

_But she had no time for disgust, no time to question the sincerity of these supposedly moral, upstanding citizens. _

_Jack was in trouble. _

_She could see immediately his father was attempting to kidnap him._

_That he would _succeed_ if she didn't do something _now_._

_She didn't hesitate a moment longer, leaping from the steps and heading straight for them, a plane forming in her mind as she went._

"_Hey!" She shouted when finally she was upon them. _

_Jack's father stopped, turning, and Jack's eyes opened, growing big._

_No, she couldn't be here. She _couldn't_ be! His father was going to hurt her. He was going to…_

"_Let him _go_." She ordered, her voice clipped, full of determination. _

_She was angry, and though when Jack's father turned and she saw him again, saw his immense size and obvious strength, she felt a chill of fear run through her, that fear was quickly obliterated when she took in Jack, saw the absolute devastation in his eyes, saw the blood seeping from his nose and mouth, an already deep bruise along his left cheek. And then what looked like blueberry's and some kind of sticky bread, spread across his face. Her eyes flicked down, seeing the box of muffins on the ground, a box from the same shop Jack always stopped in, because he knew how much she loved them. And that fear was fast replaced by explosive rage, near incontrollable. _

_She looked back up, forcing herself still, breathing in deep._

_She wasn't going to let this happen. _

_She wasn't going to let this monster hurt Jack anymore._

_Not anymore._

"_I said…" She began again, her voice low with warning. "Let. Him. Go." _

_His father smiled, smug._

"_Ohh, looks like your _girl_friend's come to _save _you Jack! Isn't that sweet?" He laughed. "You're like, the damsel in distress, and she's your brave hero!"_

_He laughed._

"_Jeannie, plea…" Jack tried to warn her, to tell her to run, but he was cut off when his father tightened his hold on his hair, giving him a sharp pull, his words choking off in pain._

_Jeannie had to exert every ounce of her willpower to not lunge at the bastard then and there. But somehow she managed. She had to get Jack away from his father, and jumping on the pig wasn't the way she was going to do it._

"_Only real life doesn't _work _that way, sweetheart!" His Dad continued, giving Jack's hair another pull. "So I suggest you… run off, before you get yourself and your fag of a boyfriend here even _more _hurt."_

_She was going to kill the sonofabitch. She was going wipe that disgusting smirk right from his face._

_Again she breathed in, exhaling slowly. _

"_And you feel like such a man?" She said, her voice retaining its calm composure. "Beating up someone weaker then yourself? Someone who can't defend themselves? Yeah, that makes you _real _tough, doesn't it? But why do I get the feeling you wouldn't be so engaging around someone your same size?"_

_His father smirked._

"_What? Like you?" He chuckled._

"_No. Just anyone who might actually pose a _threat_. It's easy for you to beat up on Jack because he's so much _smaller_ then you. There's no chance of him actually _hurting _you. But what you don't know is that Jack's a _hundred _times the man you'll _ever_ be. I've seen your son throw himself in to fights he _knew_ he couldn't win, go up against boys and men twice his size without a _moments _hesitation. All to defend _me_! And what do you do? Huh? Get your rocks off beating the hell out of your own boy! Treating him like he was a personal chew toy and not a human being! Making sure he could never regard himself as anything _more_ then what you _told _him he was!"_

_Her voice cracked with emotion, unable to hide her rage, too disgusted, too sickened by the truth of her words. _

_She could see the anger in his father's eyes, flashing. But she stood her ground. Unwilling to back away, unwilling to abandon Jack. _

_Her hands clenched to fists. _

"_There's no _man_…" his father seethed, twisting Jack's hair more severely, pushing him easily to his knees as Jack cried out. "in this _boy_!" _

_And Jeannie nearly lost it, her body beginning to tremble, both with fear and rage. _

_Seeing the man hurting Jack, actually _seeing_ it, was too much. _

_She had to get him away, she had to stop this…_

_She could only pray to God this would work._

_Jack's hands came up, grasping weakly to his fathers._

"_J-Jeannie, p-please go. P-please…" He begged, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, terrified his father was going to hurt her, hating himself for knowing there would be nothing he could do to stop it._

"_QUIET!" His father screamed, again pulling his hair hard, nearly tearing it out by the roots._

_Jack whimpered loudly and Jeannie nearly launched herself forward. _

_She couldn't stand watching this. _

_This piece of shit… this fucking _bastard_!_

"You're_ no man!" She spit. "_You're_ the fucking _pansy_!"_

_Jack's tears grew thicker, and he tried shaking his head. _

_Oh God, please run, he thought. _Please_._

"_You little _bitch_." His father hissed. "You want me to _prove_ to you how much of a man I am?"_

"_N-No Jeannie, please…" Jack again tried, and again his father tore at his hair. _

_She flicked her eyes to him, trying to reassure him, praying he could see she had a plan, that the two of them were going to be alright. But she could tell from the panic and desperation in his eyes that he didn't understand. _

_She looked back to his father, pushing past her own nerves to plaster a smirk across her lips. _

"_Yeah, Mr. Napier, why don't you _do_ that? Why don't you prove to me it isn't _you _who's the fucking faggot!"_

_She hated talking this way in front of Jack. She knew it scared him, that he would associate it with his father, with what usually proceeded his getting beaten. She saw him flinch from the corner of her eye, and knew it was only increasing his fear and confusion. But it was necessary. The only way she was going to provoke his father. To make him let Jack go and come at her._

_It worked._

"_Alright then." His father leered. "And in the process, I'll show Jackie here what a fucking _slut_ you are!"_

_Without another word, he threw his son aside, stalking towards her quickly. _

"_NO!" Jack cried, falling forward and reaching out, trying to grab his father's ankle, to stop him. But he was too slow, and he stumbled on to his hands. "NO, L… LEAVE HER ALONE!" He again screamed, looking up in horror as his father got nearer to Jeannie. _

_And it was as he was trying to push himself to his feet, to get up, that his Dad came within a few feet of her, and she stepped back, calmly, readily, and it all seemed to slow down for her. She could see the man's every movement, see exactly from where he was coming, and how quickly. And she knew just then when to kick. _

_Without ever taking her eyes from his face, she did, her foot coming up and sinking _hard _in to his groin. It couldn't have landed more perfectly, or with more impact. Her focus had been laser like, undeterred and unwavering. _

_Jack's father gave a loud grunt as almost instantly he fell to his knees, followed by a sharp gasping noise, and he doubled over, his hands grasping at his crotch, his head bowed down and his eyes closing as consuming pain ripped through him. He gagged, then dry heaved, and Jeannie stepped back, watching for only a moment before her eyes moved to Jack, who sat on his knees, transfixed by the sight of his father._

"_Jack, RUN!" She yelled. _

_But it was as though he didn't hear her, continuing to sit, staring at his father in clear disbelief._

"_JACK!" She again tried, and when he still failed to respond, she went for him, grabbing him by the arm, trying to pull him to his feet. "Jack, we have to _go_!" She again tried. "We have to get out of here!"_

_She managed to get him up, and began dragging him, desperate to get the two of them out of their before his father recovered. _

_She didn't understand what he was doing. _

_And right as they were moving past his Dad, the man reached out, grabbing weakly for Jack's ankle. _

"_Jack!" He spit. "Jackie-b-boy… D-don't you leave me here!" _

_And Jack froze, halting, his eyes again turning to the older man. _

"_Jack! Jack, come on!" Jeannie implored, pulling on his arm. "Baby, come _on_!"_

_But he couldn't move. He felt paralyzed, unsure. _

_He'd never seen his father like this before. Never seen him… never seen him actually _hurt_. _

_It confused him. He felt afraid. A different kind of fear from the one before. Like something wasn't right, wasn't as it should be. _

_He'd somehow convinced himself this wasn't possible. That it wasn't really possible for his father to be in any position but a dominant one. _

_He didn't know what to do. _

_He could feel Jeannie pulling on his arm, pleading with him to come. _

_But his father was looking up at him now, looking hard and with intent. _

"_Jackie… Jackie… come on. Don't… don't leave me here. Don't leave your father here. I'm… I'm sorry Jackie. I'm sorry. I didn't… I was just upset Jackie. That's all. I was just upset that you'd left. Please. Come on. I'll… I'll make it up to you Jackie. I promise I will." _

"_Ohh, no. NO!" Jeannie said, gripping tighter to Jack's arm. "Don't you listen to him Jack! Don't you listen to him! He's _lying_. He's lying to you Jack!"_

_But Jack just continued to stand there, looking at his Dad, almost as if he were in a trance. _

"_I…" He started, his voice frail and broken. "I d-don't know… don't know what to do…"_

"_Jack, baby, _think_ for a second." Jeannie went on. "He's done this to you before. _Pretended_ to be nice only so he could hurt you later. He's lying to you honey. I _know _you can see it!"_

"_Don't… don't listen to her!" His father snapped. "_She's_ the liar Jack! Didn't I tell you? She gave you false h-hope and this is… this is the r-result! You're… you're in pain, ain't ya boy? I wouldn't of had to do that to you if it… if it weren't for _her_! Things would'a been… would'a been the same between us. You never would'a gotten hurt like this if… if she hadn't come along!"_

_Jeannie stared at the older man in disbelief, shocked at how viciously he lied, at how he was trying to twist his own son's mind, trying to ruin any chance he had of happiness. _

_She opened her mouth, ready to tell him off, to tell Jack not to listen. _

_But Jack beat her to it. _

_He shook his head. _

"_N-no… No S-sir. T-that… th-that's not t-true." He stammered, taking hold of Jeannie and pushing her behind him. "Y-you didn't… you d-didn't h-have to d-do this."_

_Jeannie was right, Jack realized. His father had done this before. Had acted nice. And every time, later… later his father would hurt him, would beat him. _

_The anger was apparent across his Dad's face then._

"_Like _hell_ I didn't!" He spit. "You need to be _shown_ Jack! That's the only way you've ever been able to learn!"_

_But Jack again shook his head._

"_N-nno…" He said quietly. "Y-y-yyou j-just don't w-want me to… t-to be h-h-happy. B-because… b-because you a-aren't h-happy."_

_And now all pretense fell away, his father's face twisting in to a scowl. _

"_You get BACK here boy!" He raged. "Get back here and do as I SAY! Or I swear to God, you're in for the worst beating of your pathetic, miserable LIFE!"_

_Jack flinched visibly at the raising of his father's voice, shrinking back. _

_And Jeannie knew that was her cue to step in. _

_He'd been brave enough._

"_Go to _hell_ Mr. Napier!" She spit. "Jack won't be doing _anything_ you tell him, ever again!"_

"_You BELONG to me boy!" His father continued, ignoring her. "You hear? I OWN your ass! If you don't get over here RIGHT NOW, I'll fucking KILL YOU!"_

_Again Jack flinched, and Jeannie pulled him this time, away. _

"_Come on Jack. Come on sweetheart." She said, taking him. _

_And as they turned, starting to move quickly away, his father attempted to rise, only to fall back to his knees as pain shot up through his entire lower half, in to his stomach. _

"_You litt… you little BASTARD!" He screamed._

_The both of them just walked faster, Jeannie holding tight to Jack's arm, pulling him in close to her. _

"_You did good baby." She said when finally they were a safe distance away. "You did so good."_

_But there would be no celebration. Not when she saw the tears pooled in his eyes, or the way he was unable to look at her. _

_And she noticed then he was trembling, shaking, his breath coming fast and shallow. _

_Like he was on the verge of a panic attack. _

_Only then did she realize how much strength it had taken for him to tell his father no like that. How difficult it had been for him. _

_She stopped him, standing in front of him and taking his face in her hands._

"_Jack…" She said softly. _

_But he continued to glance away._

_He was still frightened, overwhelmingly._

"_Jack…" She said again. "Look at me honey. Please." _

_And he finally did, hesitantly. _

_She smiled warmly._

"_I'm so proud of you sweetheart. I'm so proud of you. For what you did back there." _

_He stared at her with wide, glistening eyes._

"_He's… h-he's going to… going to…"_

_But she cut him short, shaking her head._

"_No Jack. He isn't. He isn't going to do anything. I promise you. He won't come near either of us ever again."_

_He continued to look at her, and she could see so much pain in his eyes, so much confusion. _

_His tears fell, sliding down his face._

_And she couldn't help her own then._

"_Oh God, Jack…" She said, wiping gently at his face with her sleeve, trying to clean the smashed pastry from his skin. Then at his nose and lip, wiping the blood away. "You're my brave little soldier. You know that? You're so incredibly brave."_

"_Jeannie, a-am I… am I r-ruining y-your… your l-life?" He asked suddenly, and there was so much anxiety in his voice, so much worry that she couldn't help the despairing sob which tore past her lips. _

"No_ Jack. God, _no_!" She answered firmly. "You're… you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I _love_ you! I love you _so_ much!"_

_His brow furrowed, his forehead lining. He looked so devastated. So broken. _

"_B-but… but w-what ab-bout… what about…"_

_She shushed him, placing a single finger over his lips._

"_But nothing Jack. I'm _with_ you. I'm with you 'till the end. Alright? Nothing's going to change that. Nothing's going to tear us apart. Not even that _monster_. I _promise_ you that."_

_He said nothing for several, long seconds, only continuing to look at her. _

_And then he swallowed thickly._

"_Are… a-are we going to… to be a-alr-right Jeannie?" He asked._

_And she answered by pulling him in to a hug, holding him close against her, her hand coming up to the back of his head, bringing it down against her shoulder._

"_Yes Jack." She said after a moment. "We're going to be alright… I promise you, everything's going to be alright."_

/

**Hey everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Remember, reviews are welcome and a huge thanks to everyone who's taken the time to leave them!**


	17. Chapter 17

**New chapter guys. Hope you like it. Again, thanks goes to my beta TheMadCapLaughs for all her unbelievable help on this one! **

**Chapter 17:**

"I brought these for you," Jeannie said, gesturing towards the paper plate. It was filled with cookies, covered in cellophane.

He glanced at it briefly before averting his eyes.

"They're ginger snaps," she explained. "They were your favorite food. I could hardly ever get you to eat anything, but whenever I made these things, you would almost always clean the plate." She laughed lightly. "I used to get jealous because it didn't seem to matter how many cookies you ate, you'd never gain an ounce of fat."

She waited a moment to see if he would say anything. But he didn't; instead, his eyes continued to roam his cell.

So she reached forward, sliding open the small window to her left; the one which allowed items to be moved in and out of the Joker's room. She pushed the plate through, then slid the window shut.

He looked back at the cookies, before folding his arms over his chest and casting his eyes away once more.

He was in his own cell now, without restraints.

"Are you sleeping?" she asked. She'd noticed his bloodshot eyes; the dark bags beneath them.

He shook his head.

"Is it the dreams?"

He nodded, wondering why he told her these things. Things he told no-one else, things he'd been sure he would never tell anyone.

He suffered night terrors. Always had, as far back as he could remember. Dreams which scared him, though he hadn't revealed that detail.

On succumbing to sleep, his mind would swell with snatches of memory. Fractured pictures, displaced sounds. Horrifying things that forced him back to consciousness. He'd awake drenched in sweat; his heart pounding wildly in his chest, his breathing erratic and labored.

She hadn't been surprised when he'd admitted to her he had the nightmares.

This had surprised him.

Everyone, after all, was so sure he was an unfeeling monster.

_He _was sure.

And monsters didn't dream.

He still didn't know why he'd told her. Why he even felt he _could_.

She had been his wife. It was something he couldn't deny now. He remembered her, another forgotten moment unfurling in his mind with each passing day.

He didn't completely trust her. She was in cahoots with the Bat, after all.

But something had driven him to tell her; something that told him it would be okay.

"You used to always have those," she explained. "The nightmares. You'd wake up screaming. It usually took me the rest of the night to calm you back down."

"I don't scream."

He didn't scream. But the anxiety and dread would still be present when he woke, settling heavy in the pit of his stomach, and for countless hours afterwards he could only sit and stare, painfully aware of the strange emotions, unable to escape or rationalize them.

Most nights he never slept at all.

Most nights he didn't want to.

He forced himself to stay awake sometimes, knowing only too well what came with sleep. Other times he had no choice; his mind danced manically, working too fast and ceaselessly to lose consciousness.

But eventually the exhaustion would overtake him and he would succumb.

"What was it about?" she asked gently.

In the past, he'd always had difficulty recalling just what it was that had made him feel so panicked. But all that changed when she showed up. It was as if her presence had set off a slow-motion bomb in his mind. A domino effect, one memory triggering before giving way to another. Though they still made scant sense, the images and noises were fresher in his mind than they had been.

His eyes slid away again, and he shrugged.

"Jack…"

He wished she would stop calling him that. It wasn't his name. Not anymore. She'd never once addressed him as Joker. The word didn't seem to exist in her vocabulary.

Initially he'd tried to frighten her away when she used that name. He'd threaten her with actual bodily harm, emphasizing his point by thumping wildly against the Plexiglas. Or he'd simply stare at her without uttering a word, grin fixed in place, trying to psyche her out.

Sometimes he'd resort to petty insults. He'd tell her she wasn't his type. Or that she looked like she'd be a lousy lay. One time he'd even told her she could do with losing a few, as her ass looked bigger than the last time he'd seen her. Weight. Every woman's Achilles heel. He knew this only too well. But the fact he felt compelled to resort to dull ad-hominems - given his usual talent for verbal repartee - suggested he was letting her get to him.

She wasn't the least bit deterred, of course. If anything, his resistance only strengthened her resolve. And, as seemed to be the case with all of their exchanges lately, she won that one too.

She called him Jack, and he didn't even bother trying to stop her anymore.

He continued to look away.

"Jack," she said, more firmly this time.

He turned towards her.

Another exchange lost.

He'd refused at first to admit it, but he could deny it no longer. This woman _did_ have a certain power over him. Something in her voice - when she used it a particular way - made him snap to attention even though he didn't want to. It made him _listen._ Not so he could analyze her every word with the express purpose of taking her apart, piece by painstaking piece, but simply to listen for the sake of it.

He was reluctant to acknowledge it, but she stirred some kind of feeling in him. A fear of sorts; a need to refrain from disappointing her. And the feeling that perhaps he _should_ listen to her. That it was somehow good for him to do so.

He despised these emotions. They made him feel weak and stupid. But he could do nothing about them, and denying their existence had only seemed to make them more intense.

She was looking at him again.

"What did you dream about?" she repeated.

"The figure." He said, his voice quiet, almost a whisper.

"The man in the doorway?"

And he nodded.

The dream was reoccurring, though it always seemed to have one thing about it that was different from the last time.

He would be in a room, pitch black, unable to see anything around him. There would be no sound, no sense of where he was.

And then, from what seemed miles away, a door would open, this bright, almost blinding, white light shining in. He would have to look away at first, it was so bright, and it would hurt his eyes.

That's when a figure would appear in the door, blocking most of the light out. A man, tall and broad, his head nearly touching the top of the frame, his shoulders nearly as wide. He would have his hands on either side of him, holding to the frame, leaning in.

He could only make out the man's silhouette, the shape of him. He could see no details, no face. Only this giant, black mass.

But somehow the Joker knew the man was looking at him, looking right at him.

And he always would have the same thought in the dream. He would wonder how it was the man saw him, concealed as he was in the dark.

And following that thought, suddenly and without warning, would be the fear. He would feel himself seize up, feel the panic begin to build in his stomach, his heart beginning to pound loudly in his ears. And then he would be frozen. Unable to move. Paralyzed and numb.

The figure would move forward then, in to the room with him, melting in to black, and he could no longer see the man.

Sometimes, in the dream, the Joker could feel him approaching, could feel him getting nearer, and his own fear would grow, to the point he could feel himself trembling.

He would always get the distinct urge to run, to flee.

But he never could.

Sometimes, there was no reason for it. He just couldn't move.

Other times, he could feel hands coming up, gripping to his arms and legs, forcing him in to submission, rendering him immobile. And he could never pull away at those times. He was never strong enough.

He could hear the footsteps of the approaching figure then, getting louder, getting closer, and he would think to go very still, the notion passing through his mind that, perhaps if he was as still as possible, the man wouldn't find him.

But he always did.

He always found him. And he would reach out, taking hold of the Joker's jaw in what felt like a giant hand, jerking him down and forward, the grip painfully tight.

And then he would feel hot breath against his face, against his ear and his neck, and a voice would whisper to him, sharp and raspy.

"You pathetic _freak_." It would say.

And he would feel small.

Sometimes the man would go on, continuing to talk. To say things which would cause his throat to tighten, would leave him gasping for breath and shaking. The man would insult him, degrade and belittle him. But it was never anger the Joker felt. It was always something else, something deeper. Like devastation.

He _believed_ the things the man was saying.

Sometimes the dream would change.

Sometimes the man said nothing at all to him. Sometimes he would just feel the giant hand clamp down tight, over his face, pushing him down, forcing him to his knees. And he would feel like he was drowning, like he was suffocating, as the hand tightened over his nose and mouth, pressing down unrelentingly.

Other times, when the figure would step in to the room, melt in blackness, the Joker could no longer feel the presence of him, and he would somehow know he was alone. Completely alone. And the weight of that knowledge would somehow be just as restricting.

He still wound up feeling as if he couldn't breathe.

Still wound up feeling scared.

And that's when he would wake.

Initially, it had crossed his mind that the man in the doorway – an imposing, shadowy figure with a sandpaper voice - might be Batman. But the Joker was well aware that Batman's voice was an affectation; something he used to intimidate people and to mask his daytime persona's refined, East Coast aristocratic tones. As for the man in the doorway, well, there was nothing _remotely_ fake about his voice.

And despite his ardent dislike of the clown, Batman had never once addressed him in such a withering, contemptuous, blatantly cruel manner. Mostly he was stern, as if he were chiding an exasperating child, but never outright _cruel._ Except, of course, when he was beating the Joker to within an inch of his life, but what the hell, _he_ gave as just good as he got, too. The Joker had even detected the occasional note of grudging respect in the vigilante's voice.

Then the woman – Jeannie - had told him she thought the man in the door was his father. According to her, his father used to terrorize him, beat and humiliate him.

At first he'd dismissed her and her theory, telling her he didn't remember anything like that.

But as the weeks passed, and she came to see him nearly every day, the gaps in his memory slowly began to close and he'd recall the man, recall the things he'd _done_ to him. And eventually, whenever he reflected on his father, he'd started to feel rage as opposed to fear.

He'd asked her to find out what became of his father, where he was and what he was doing.

She'd been reluctant, telling him she didn't want him to hurt anybody.

He'd told her he wasn't planning on it, that he just needed to know.

That had been a lie.

He planned on busting out of here the moment he knew where the scumbag was currently located. He was going to torture the bastard brutally before ending his pathetic, meaningless life.

"What did he do to you this time?" He heard her ask.

He reached out, grabbing hold of the cookies she'd brought and pulling them towards himself.

Absently he picked at the cellophane.

"He was talking to me," he said, still fixed on the cookies.

He didn't want her to see how much the dream bothered him.

But she knew anyway.

She nodded.

"What did he say?"

The Joker shrugged.

"You can tell me, Jack," she said softly.

He hated this. He was usually so verbose, so shameless, gleefully pontificating on the most excruciatingly embarrassing, shocking things. But with her, he clammed up, became evasive and vague.

"The same thing he always does," he said, picking up one of the cookies and staring at it as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"What does he say?"

She was pushing now. She wanted him to admit to the details, so that he could accept the impact it was having on him. That was the only way he was ever going to get better. He threw the cookie down and crossed his arms over his chest, turning his head away.

He was never going to get "better." Dammit, couldn't the woman just accept this one tiny fact? What the hell did "better" mean anyway? Feeling confused and ashamed, like he did now?

"He calls me a freak, tells me I'm pathetic, tells me I'm nothing..." The words came out rapidly, indifferently. He affected a yawn for good measure. He wouldn't tell her what these words really made him feel like. "You know this already. Why do you insist on me always recounting it for you?"

"Jack…" she began. "I'm only trying to help you."

"The past is just that," he said, finally bringing his eyes to her. "You can't change it. There's no use in dwelling upon it. It means nothing to me."

She stared back at him.

"You know that's not true, Jack."

He scoffed, again looking away.

"You can believe what you like. I know myself."

He couldn't believe how he was lying to her, how he was denying the truth of himself, when he'd always been so proud of the fact he would accept every and any emotion he had, embracing and reveling in it.

He was disgusted by himself now.

He heard her sigh, and she leaned back.

"Then I guess you don't want to hear about your father?" she said. "About what happened to him?"

He immediately looked back at her.

"You know?" he asked, unable to conceal the anticipation in his voice.

She nodded slowly.

"Well then, what is it?" He demanded, leaning forward. "Where is he?"

She licked her lips, for the first time in the visit looking away, casting her eyes to her lap.

There was desperation in his voice.

She was afraid of how he was going to react.

"Jack…" She started, hesitant. And he looked at her with wide, expectant eyes.

He was going to kill the son of a bitch. He was going to pay Daddy Dearest a little visit and show him how to _properly_ torture a person, show him in detail and with _care_.

And then he was going to snuff out his wretched, sorry life.

The _coward_.

He was going to…

"Jack, your father is dead." She looked away, and his thoughts came to a crashing halt.

He blinked at her.

When there was no reply, she forced her gaze back up, and saw him staring at her.

"Jack…?"

Again he blinked.

"Jack, did you hear me?"

Finally, after what seemed forever, he shifted.

"Dead?" he questioned, his voice soft. She felt her mouth pull in to a frown. Then she nodded.

"He died ten years ago, Jack. From cancer. He's buried in the Narrows, at the local cemetery there."

He continued only to stare back, and it was as if he wasn't looking at her at all, as if he was looking right through her.

"Dead?" He again repeated, and she felt herself tense more at the stunned quiet in his voice.

"I'm sorry Jack," she said. "I know… I know this is hard."

His eyes seemed to focus then, as though he'd been pulled back to the present. And he looked at her hard, his jaw tightening.

"It doesn't matter," he said, dismissively. "It's fine."

She shook her head.

"Jack, if you want to talk about it…"

"I don't." He cut her short. "It's unimportant. The bastard got what he deserved. I'm sure he suffered. So that's the end of it then."

She watched him closely, studying him, and she could easily see he was lying.

His shoulders slumped, vague stress lines appearing across his face, despite his best efforts to hide them. She noticed a tremor running through his body.

"Jack, it's okay to be upset," she said. "You don't have to pretend."

"I'm not upset," he emphasized. "I don't care. None of it matters anyway, none of it has any bearing on what _is_."

Jeannie frowned. "Jack, if you can't talk about it, how do you expect to get past it?"

He shook his head. "I _am_ past it," he spat, the agitation clear in his voice. "It never made any difference, one way or the other."

"Really? That's funny. Then how do you explain the times I found you crying over what that bastard had done to you?"

"You never…"

"I _did, _Jack. More than once. When you thought no one was around. You remember how you used to lock yourself in the bathroom? I could always hear you in there Jack, sobbing."

_He'd told her he would be right back. That he just had to use the toilet and would only be a minute._

_But she could tell from the way his voice shook, the slight trembling of his hands, that he was in distress. _

_This would happen to Jack periodically. He would have these episodes, times when he just became… overwhelmed, for whatever reason, emotionally. _

_She'd always ask him if he was alright, seeing clearly that he wasn't. But he would just force a smile, saying of course he was, because why wouldn't he be, and then quietly excuse himself._

_The first time it had happened, that had been the first time she really realized just how deeply traumatized he was, how deep his fear of his father ran and how it continued to affect him, even after they'd been separated._

_He would be taken by a kind of panic, seemingly out of nowhere, consumed by a crippling fear and feelings of shame and self-loathing. And he would hastily retreat to the bathroom every time, close the door quietly behind him, turn the faucets on because he thought that it would mask his despairing sobs, and he would just break down, crumpling to his knees, allowing the anguish to come out._

_It was the only time._

_It had now been five minutes since he left, and she was beginning to worry._

_She stood from the couch. They'd been doing a puzzle together, a huge, thousand piece jigsaw on top of their coffee table._

_Jack was good with highly complex puzzles. This was due to his astonishing ability to see and recognize patterns in things. The Rubik's Cube was his favorite, and hers. She adored watching him sit there and match all of the colors up within a matter of seconds. She could work at that thing for hours and never get anywhere. She was sure if he practiced the thing, and got his hands to move as quickly as those kids who practiced it all day, he would have the world record. She'd asked him once how the heck he did it so quickly, and he'd shrugged and said "I just know where everything's going to be." When she looked like she still didn't quite understand, he'd elaborated, saying "It's like a big picture in my mind. I can see all the colors separate from one another, and I just… just know how they have to turn to get that way."_

_It all seemed very abstract to her._

_As it was, he could have finished the puzzle they were working on within an hour, maybe even less, if he were doing it on his own. _

_But puzzles were something he and Jeannie did together, and he always allowed her to tackle the majority of the ones they worked on, allowed her to put them together herself. He liked mostly to just sit there with her, just the two of them, and talk, occasionally putting the pieces together if she'd gotten stuck and was beginning to get frustrated. _

_Slowly she made her way to the bathroom door. As she approached, she heard a low, keening noise over the rush of water, desperate and agonized. _

_Her heart sank. _

_She didn't know what had caused it. She'd begun to think it was nothing in particular, just his emotions overwhelming him, pushing their way past the surface and forcing their way out. He was so repressed, locking away his feelings, trying to hide his pain from her, that sometimes it would just build and build. He never allowed himself to vent, to _deal_. She thought perhaps that he really didn't know _how_. That he didn't know how to cope with his overwhelming hurt, because his father had never allowed him to cry; had always punished him if he showed any perceived weakness. _

_She'd been trying to show him it was okay to let go, to let his tears fall. She was trying to make him understand that she wouldn't judge him for it. _

_But he had so much trouble forgetting what had so mercilessly been drilled in to him. The thought that it was somehow wrong to cry, somehow wrong to be affected by years and years of the worst kind of abuse. _

_Quietly she pressed her hands against the bathroom door, leaning her ear against it, and she could hear him distinctly now._

_He was sobbing, the sound muffled and deep, and she guessed he must have his face buried in either his hands or arms. _

_She felt her throat constrict, her eyes moving to the floor as she fought to compose herself. _

"_Jack, baby…" She rapped softly on the door. "Baby, are you alright?" _

_The sobbing trailed off slightly, and she knew he was trying to stop himself, to rein it in. _

"_I'm…" She heard him call, his voice cracking heavily. He cleared his throat. "I… I'm alright…"_

_She frowned._

"_I'll be out in a minute." _

_His voice was strained and thin, and she could tell he was still crying. _

"_Jack, honey, let me in. Please."_

_But she received no answer, and then she heard him shifting around, messing with the toilet paper roll, and water splashing._

_He was trying to wash away any evidence that he'd been crying._

_A minute later, and she heard the lock being undone, followed quickly by the door opening. Immediately she saw his red and puffy eyes, despite his efforts to look away from her._

"_I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting so long."_

"_Jack…" She said, reaching up and taking hold of his face, turning him gently towards her. He tried turning away, but she wouldn't let him, so he resorted instead to averting his gaze. "Jack, are you alright?" _

_He forced himself to smile, still keeping his eyes to his right. _

"_I'm alright." _

"_Why were you crying?" she asked, not willing to let him go, letting him know up front she knew he wasn't telling her the truth._

"_I… I wasn't…" he tried._

"_I heard you Jack. I heard you crying. Sweetie, it's okay. It's okay that you were. You can talk to me. You _know_ that."_

_He kept his gaze fixed on the floor. He didn't know what to say. _

"Please, _Jack," she implored, bending down to try and catch his eye. "Please tell me what it is, sweetheart."_

_It had seemed like for a moment he might. She could see from the way he stood, and the way he then leaned into her touch, his eyes closing, that he wanted to. That he wanted to tell her. _

_But then he reached up, taking her wrists gently in his hands. _

"_I'm alright," he repeated. "I'll be alright."_

"I should have forced you to talk about it with me back then. Denying the impact your father's abuse had on you isn't going to help you, Jack."

"And who says I _want_ help?" he snapped. "I was doing fine until you came along. I was doing _great_."

She shook her head.

"No Jack. You weren't. Why do you think you were suffering from such heavy amnesia? The mind represses memories which are too painful to deal with. It's a survival mechanism. An unconscious one. The mind does what it has to do to ensure the body can keep functioning. What happened to you was too much, Jack. Your mind was overloaded, and it reacted by burying the trauma and telling you that nothing mattered. But because you haven't been able to deal with it, it's only gotten worse. It's still affecting you, only on a subconscious level. I'm just trying to help you come to terms with it, so you can begin healing…"

The Joker exhaled sharply.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," he said.

He didn't know why, but around her, he felt stripped of all his sophistication. His ability to craft lightning-fast responses, to deflect and inflict severe mental damage, was momentarily gone. He pictured his mind as a complex series of intersecting short-cuts, enabling him to skip gleefully from thought to thought, whim to whim, action to action, without reflecting on any of the consequences for too long, if at all. But whenever _she_ appeared before him, the barriers came down on these fast and easy roads, blocking them off from one another and forcing him to take the infinitely more tedious 'scenic' route. He felt naked in front of her, vulnerable. Like she could see past every wall he threw up without effort.

Like she was doing to _him_ what he was so used to doing to _others._

And he could do nothing to stop it or fend her off. Every time he tried to get at her, to make her second guess herself or attack her in some way, she would shoot him down, remaining completely unaffected and undeterred by it, telling him things like "When we were married, we knew everything about each other. There's nothing about me that I haven't already told you. We were _close_ Jack. We were each others' support."

He was powerless against her. Something he couldn't remember having ever been against anyone. Not even Batman. Though she was quick to remind him, it seemed, how he'd been the same against his father.

And he hated it. He hated it so much.

He supposed he could have just refused to see her, told her she could go screw herself, and take the brat with her. But what was perhaps worst of all, he realized, was that… he really didn't _want_ to stop seeing her.

As unfunny as this all was, as _humiliating_… there was something about her, something about talking to her, just being _around_ her, which calmed him inside. He felt oddly relaxed when she was there; the manic, almost oppressive energy he'd known all his life actually quelling, and for once he felt as though things could actually _stop_, that he didn't have to keep going, going, going…

Things became more _quiet_ when she was here.

And things had never been quiet for him.

They'd never been… peaceful.

She sighed.

"Okay Jack. What do you want to talk about?"

He shifted, returning his eyes to the cookies, taking one up and bringing it to his nose, sniffing it.

It smelled good.

And he became suddenly aware of how hungry he was.

He hadn't eaten in days.

He'd forgotten to.

"What's the kid up to?" he asked, trying to ignore the pangs in his stomach.

"Rory?" she replied, sounding somewhat surprised.

He nodded, still keeping his eyes on the cookie.

"He's in school still. He's doing well. Mostly A's, a couple of B's. Came in first in all his races at the state track meet."

"State track meet?"

"Yeah…" Jeannie went on. "It's the final meet of the year, where all the different schools in the state come together to compete."

"And he won against all those other kids?"

She nodded. "Yeah. He won't be able to go out for Varsity until next year, being a freshman, but he's already good enough to compete. He beat all the kids in his age group."

The Joker seemed to contemplate this for a moment, saying nothing. Finally he threw the cookie he'd been holding back on the plate.

"What does he do?"

"You mean what kinds of races does he run?"

He nodded.

"He does the sprints. 100 meters, 200 meters, and the 110 meter hurdles. He's built for it. You should see him run. He's really powerful."

She watched for his reaction, and she could see from the look in his eyes that he found this fact about their son both intriguing and bothersome.

And she knew why.

Jack had been a good runner himself, actually. But he was long, and skinny, not compact and explosive like Rory. He was built more for distance running, endurance rather then speed. She remembered how he could walk for miles and never seem to get tired. But endurance hadn't done him any good when being chased by the jocks in their schools, boys who'd been like Rory, fast and powerful, able to easily run Jack down.

She wondered if that was what he was thinking of now, if he was remembering those times, the few times he'd actually run from the bullies because that was what she'd told him he should do, how he'd been quickly caught, shoved to the ground and beaten up.

She waited for him to say something, for him to say something snarky, since that seemed to be how he dealt with things which troubled him, writing them off as silly or worthless.

But he didn't, after a while simply giving a vague nod of his head.

"And he has friends?"

Jeannie nodded slowly.

It seemed obvious to her now that he was comparing Rory's situation with his own.

"He does. He's a well-liked kid. Very outgoing. Very encouraging. He treats everyone well. Has a lot of friends."

The Joker looked down, again nodding, and he seemed so incredibly like Jack then. Sitting like him, behaving like him.

It was why she hadn't given up, even through his initial onslaught of dismissive and threatening behavior. She'd _known _there was a part of who he'd been, still alive inside him, no matter how deeply buried it was. It was there. She'd been determined not to give up on him.

And now she was seeing the results. Despite his mental illness, a real, albeit faint, echo of that boy she'd loved so much persisted. The boy who'd meant everything to her. Who still meant everything to her.

"He asks about you, you know," she said suddenly.

He glanced up. He wasn't used to anyone asking that.

"What do you tell him?" he enquired, genuinely curious.

"That you're okay. Relatively speaking, of course. But you could be doing a lot better."

He laughed.

"Honesty being the best policy and all that, hmm?"

"You could say that, I guess," Jeannie said, not finding it particularly funny.

_And neither does he_, she suspected. He laughed at his own misery because he didn't know how else to respond, didn't know any other way to cope.

He wasn't so very different then he had been then. Not in that way, in any event, when Jack had tried to disguise his own feelings of inadequacy in self-deprecating humor. And he did the same now, laughing at the state of his own condition, like it didn't matter at all, like _he _didn't matter at all. As though he cared so little for himself that he thought to find amusement in his own misfortune was only the appropriate response.

She knew it stemmed from desperation. For if he didn't care, then he couldn't be hurt. And he'd convinced himself of it.

But it was a lie.

She could see in his eyes, so clearly now, how much pain he was still in. How it had never gone away. Not really. That he'd just buried it deep, and in consciousness, had been unaware of its presence.

He was becoming aware now though, and he could no longer mask from her what was raging inside him.

He wasn't even really trying anymore.

"What happened to you?" She asked, tapping along her jaw to indicate what she meant.

She'd noticed right away, but didn't want to start their conversation asking about it.

A giant bruise along the left side of his jaw, deep black and purple. She could see the impression of somebody's fingers, along the top edge of the discoloration, standing out starkly against his porcelain white skin.

He stared at her blankly a moment before, almost absently, his hand lifted and he felt along his jaw.

She knew it must have hurt terribly, from the red she could see in it. Busted capillaries. But he didn't flinch.

"Oh…" he said softly, as though he'd only just remembered. "We have new residents here at Arkham," he chuckled. "Brought in over the weekend. It's customary, I'm afraid, for each new inmate to try and prove themselves. It's no better here then any maximum security prison. Don't let the title of _asylum_ fool you. You'll get eaten alive in a place like this if you don't show everyone you're tough stuff. I've lost count of the number of times I've heard so-called hard cases pleading, crying, _begging_ to be sent to Blackgate instead." He laughed lowly. "All in all, I wouldn't recommend the insanity defense to _anyone._ Anyone other than my good self, of course, but then again, this _is_ my home. And everyone in it, from the directors to the doctors to the orderlies to the inmates themselves, are merely my _guests,_ remaining here solely at _my_ discretion, _my_ whim."

His grin widened, and he continued.

"Apparently my reputation precedes me, as it's almost always the case I get chosen to be the test of this so called _metal_. You know, survive an encounter with the Joker, and that means you aren't someone to be messed with. It's all a bit unfair though, I think. These men only have to make it through a single encounter, and if they do, they're pretty much guaranteed their safety, relative within the walls of such a place of course. Whereas I have to continually perform, every time we experience an influx of patients. If I'm off even _once_, I promise you, it wouldn't be long before my so-called _peers_ were plotting against me. Like vultures circling." Again he chuckled. "They try so anyway, even with knowing the danger I present. It's always _them _who attack _me_."

Jeannie had felt a horrible fear seize her heart as she listened, taking in the words he was saying.

Almost immediately she thought of the episode he'd had, only a couple of weeks before, when She, Rory, Batman and his people had come to see him, when Jack's mind had again taken completely over, and he hadn't known where he was, or why he was there.

He'd snapped back to the Joker while unconscious in the infirmary, and when he'd woken, he'd supposedly had no memory of what had happened.

But oh Jesus, if it happened again, while he was in here, and the other inmates somehow took notice, with what he was telling her…

He would be in the worst danger.

Trapped and alone, with no-one to protect him. Nowhere to run.

"They're emboldened by my appearance," he continued, blithely. "They think, 'That Joker, he don't look so tough.' Surely, anyone so thinly built can't be any great challenge."

"W…" She had to swallow. "What happened?"

He was smiling faintly at her now.

"Yesterday morning, while in the showers. This boy was rather a large one, big and strong. He's in here for killing his wife and kids."

She stared at him in horror.

And he went on.

"He must have had at least 25 pounds on me. I try to use that sort of advantage against them usually, make them miss, and then they're off balance, their weight making it worse." He shrugged, looking down. "The orderlies in here like to try and mess with me. They know all about the induction process, about _proving_ yourself against the Joker. I'm _supposed_ to shower alone. Officially, I'm not allowed any sort of contact with the other patients. But the orderlies make bets with each other. Will this be the guy to finally take the Joker out? That sort of foolishness. And they promise the guy in question that if he succeeds in taking me down, he'll get certain privileges. That he'll have their protection, or he'll get extra phone calls, more visits, better food, stuff like that. The doctors turn a blind eye, of course. Understandably, they prefer to keep contact with the maximum-security types to the absolute, acceptable minimum. Sometimes I wonder if they're just banking on all of us doing each other in one day.

"Soooo … the orderlies _failed _to mention I would be showering with someone else. They try to give these new boys as much of an advantage as they can. They let him in after me, so I didn't see him…"

Jeannie had her hand over her mouth, completely horrified.

"And that's how _this_ happened." He gestured towards the bruising on his jaw. "I heard him approaching, but not until he was within a few feet, because of the spray from the shower heads, and when I turned to face him…" The Joker smiled softly. "Well, he latched on to my face with this giant hand and shoved me back against the wall."

_He felt his skull crack against the hard tiles, dizziness erupting inside his head. _

_Whoever this was that now had him in their grip, he was strong. Stronger then himself by far. Their thick fingers dug unrelentingly in to his jaw, the pain hot and flaring. _

_And in the next instant, the man's other hand had come up, grabbing hold of hair and tearing him from the wall, hurling him around and throwing him across the floor. _

_The Joker landed hard on his side, an audible thud sounding. He wasted no time getting to his knees, knowing the new boy was already heading for him. Pain exploded in his hip, but he ignored it, turning and looking up to see his assaulter. _

"_Hello there," he said chirpily, grinning at the newcomer. "I don't believe I've yet had the pleasure of your acquaintance. You must be new then?"_

_The man responded by kicking him across the face, again against his jaw, and the Joker went down like a pile of bricks. From the shower entrance, he could see several orderlies, standing there watching, transfixed. _

_And then there was blinding pain as the man's foot sank deep in to his stomach, stealing his breath away. The Joker gasped sharply, curling in on himself, then heaved. He was sure if he'd had any food in his stomach, he would have thrown it up all over the floor. _

_His attacker laughed. _

"_What the hell Joker!" he crowed. "I thought you'd be tougher then _this_! I mean, you got a rep of being the most bad ass motherfucker around. But all I see's is a shrimpy lookin' corn dog with a serious skin condition." _

_He bent down, taking the Joker's hair in his hand and jerking his head up, bringing his face close. _

"_Course…" The man went on. "Maybe you're just gettin' _old_, huh. What do ya think?" _

_The Joker sucked in sharply, smiling, licking his lips, the taste of copper filling his mouth. _

"_Maybe…" he said, and without warning, he reached forward, latching to the man's crotch, squeezing down as hard as he could. _

_Ear piercing wails filled the space as almost instantly the man lost his grip on the Joker's hair, falling back, his face contorting in agony. And the Joker followed him, increasing the pressure, digging sharply in to the man's scrotum with his nails. _

"_The thing is…" He went on, ignoring the blood curdling screams as their producer collapsed to the floor. "I don't _feel _particularly old. And you know what they say…" He gave the man a hard twist, and the man whimpered loudly. "You're only as old as you _feel_." Another twist, harder still. _

"_Pl-please… pl-please… le… le-let g-go, man!" the newcomer cried. "I didn't mean no harm, I swear!" _

"_Ohh, no, no, noooo…" The Joker replied. "We mustn't stop _now_. Not when things are just starting to get _interesting_!" Another hard twist, and the man again screamed. _

"_P-PL-PLEASE! H-HELP M-ME!" He cried to the orderlies. "D-DO S-SOMETHING!"_

_The Joker laughed._

"_Oh, _they_ aren't you going to help you kiddo." The man fell to his back in a useless attempt to relieve the pressure, as the clown continued unabated. "I'm surprised, and I have to say, a tad disappointed in you, young man. No _foresight._ No basic sense of _reason._ Not to mention _terrible_ manners. No respect whatsoever for your elders and betters. Did you really think it would be so easy?" He increased the pressure of his grip. The man winced again. _

"_What a sorry overestimation of your own abilities. Why, it really wouldn't prove much at all, if the test of your fortitude was as effortlessly handled as you seemed to think I would be. I assure you, it takes more then a kick in the stomach and across the face to keep _me_ down. The reputation, though I _do _hate to brag, is not unwarranted."_

_Another twist, and the man turned his head. Apparently he _had _eaten earlier, because a moment later, and he'd thrown up._

"_Ohhh, poor dear. They _do_ say not to eat anything before going for a swim, don't they?"_

"_P-pah… _please_…" gasped the man. "P-please, I b-beg yo-you… l-let me g-go!"_

"_Well, you _see_ my dear boy, there are _two _options currently available to me. Option one, and I'm sure you won't find this entirely… _appealing_, I tear this ridiculous looking sack of flesh from your body and leave you here to bleed to death. Whether those _fine _gentlemen over there are feeling particularly charitable today and decide to take you to the infirmary before that _happens_, I really can't say. Either way, you're looking at rather an unpleasant, and altogether humiliating bottom line. You'll die, and word of _how_ will spread quickly." He tsked. "And how very _shameful _that would be. Or you'll live, but have to do so with the knowledge that you are, indeed, balless. Literally and figuratively. And in a place like Arkham, my dear, with such a reputation, I'm sorry to say, your chance of survival past six months goes down exponentially."_

"_P-pl-please…" The man continued to beg._

_The Joker cut him short, twisting again._

"_That's option _one,_" he spit. "Option _two_… I do nothing more to you. I let you go…" The look of unadulterated hope in the man's eyes made him grin. "But I make sure everyone just _knows_ how you came _on_ to me, and you spend the rest of your time here, which, if you're in Arkham, likely means a _long_ time, fending off countless attempts at sexual assault. And I have to tell you, big guy, there's a _lot_ of sex offenders in this place, most of them looking to get off in any way they can. Someone like _you_, I imagine, would look incredibly appetizing to them. And believe me, I can be quite convincing when telling a _story_." _

_The hope had drained quickly from the man's face, and his expression now was a mix of physical agony and panic._

"_But being _generous _as I am, darling…" the Joker went on, hissing in his ear, "I'm going to allow you to _choose_. So what'll it be? Option one…" he squeezed down hard on the man, eliciting further howls of agony. "Or option two…"_

"He chose option two, of course…" The Joker shrugged. "It won't turn out any better for him. He'll _wish _he'd chosen the first option in a months time. But fear of death…" he sighed. "It clouds ones ability to reason, I've found."

Jeannie stared back at him, frowning. "Oh, don't give me that look!" he snapped. "It was purely self-defense."

"You don't have to spread any sort of rumors," she said. "You don't have to do that…"

"I won't have to, sweetcheeks. With the limp New Kid's sporting at the moment, everyone will already assume he's been made someone's sex toy."

She stared back in horror.

Again he shrugged. For a long moment, silence fell between them, and he could see the question in her eyes.

"Yes," he said.

She blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"The answer to the question you were _dying_ to ask, but dared not. You're wondering if anything like that's ever happened to me? It has, once, when I was first brought here. A group of orderlies did it."

Her brow furrowed, her heart sinking as a rush of terror ripped through her stomach. And he once again found himself asking why the hell he'd just told her that.

"Jack, no…" She lifted her hand instinctively, a futile gesture of protection, pressing it against the glass. "No…"

"It's no matter," he said, shrugging. "I made sure they paid for it, and no-one's ever tried since."

She felt sick, dizzy, too terrified to ask what _else_ had been done to him in this place.

Her mind thought back to the time she'd first come to see him, when she'd asked those guards to help him, and they'd instead beaten him in to near unconsciousness.

Oh God, this place was _terrible_. It wasn't safe for him _now _even. Arkham wasn't the vacation home the media had dubbed it; wasn't a place for the Joker to rest and recoup.

It was corrupt and cruel and rife with abuse, a place you had to fight every second in just to survive.

And if he were to have another episode… to forget the present again… Oh God, she couldn't bring herself to fathom it. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. "Jack, I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't do that," he said. "Don't cry. There's no reason for it."

But she couldn't help it.

She couldn't bear knowing that, even now, so many years after he'd escaped his father's abuse, he was suffering just the same.

She had to help him, had to save him.

She _had_ to.

Jack has deserved _happiness_, and instead he'd wound up _here_, in this _hell hole_, adding to the already seemingly unmanageable trauma of his life.

There was a part of him still innocent, still beautiful, as he'd been before.

She only had to find a way to rekindle it permanently.

"Don't _cry,_ damn it!" he barked suddenly, standing and walking away from her. He crossed his arms over his chest, his head bowing low.

He wished now he hadn't said anything.

Christ, why _had_ he?

Why did he _keep_ telling her these things? Things no-one was ever meant to know.

"I … I mean, don't feel sorry for me…" he mumbled. He couldn't stand the _pity_. Couldn't take it from her. From… from Batman either.

He couldn't.

They couldn't see him that way.

She wiped at her eyes, trying to push the tears away, looking intently as he continued to stand with his back to her.

She didn't know what to say, how to explain it to him. She didn't mean to patronize him, to make him feel like an object of pity. She was crying for the injustice of his life, how _unfair _it had been for him, and how unfair it continued to be.

So she said nothing, falling silent and still.

The seconds ticked by. Anxiety flared in the Joker's stomach as he realized she might have gone, and he whipped around, relief washing through him, heavy and strong, when he saw her still sitting there, watching him. And almost immediately that relief was penetrated by disgust as he realized what it was, and he tried desperately and without affect to ignore it.

"You're still here…"

She looked back at him, unblinking.

"… I can go… if you want me to. Just say the word, and … and I'll leave, and never come back, if that's what _you_ want. I'll …"

He said nothing.

"… Do you want me to?"

He stared at her a moment more.

And then he turned away.

He didn't know why he told her these things.

He didn't know why he felt he _could._

He didn't know why he couldn't lie to her.

"No…" he answered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don't go."


	18. Chapter 18

**So, here's another long chapter guys. Remember to please leave reviews and tell me what you think! Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 18:**

_Jack stood nervously, looking down at her as she reached up, fumbling with his tie. A bowtie, like he always wore. _

_It was another quirk of his, the fact he liked such old time fashions, not the modern looks. _

_She'd thought more then a few times of telling him that maybe it was drawing negative attention to himself, the fact he dressed more like he was in the 1930s and 40s then the 90s made people give him strange looks, but the truth was, she loved that about him. She loved how particular he was about it, how he didn't at all seem influenced or guided by what was trendy or what everyone else was doing. It was a sign of Jack's individuality, how his mind didn't work like other peoples, how he thought differently. _

_She wasn't about to tell him to stop being himself just because everyone else thought it was strange. That would have made her no better then the rest of them._

_She finally managed to get the thing tied, ruffling it a little to make it perfect, before smoothing her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. _

_He knew how to do his own ties, but he'd been so nervous that he'd been having a difficult time, and she'd decided to just intervene and help him, to which he'd been grateful. _

_Her eyes scanned over his entire form, thinking he looked incredibly sharp, his white dress shirt going well with his navy blue, pinstriped pants. Clothes hung well on Jack, given his long, lithe frame. His thinness added to the clean cut effect. Just like all those male models. _

"_Do… Do I look alright?" He asked, staring down at her still, and she smiled at him, reaching her hands up and running her fingers through his short hair, letting them massage his scalp lightly. It was a gesture she knew relaxed Jack, when she would massage his scalp like that, and she wanted him to calm down. His hair was cut very short, on top and in back, and she ran her hands to the back of his head, smoothing her thumbs gently over the exposed rims of his ears. _

_She could feel some of the tension go out of him and her smile widened and she continued to touch him. _

"_You look fantastic." She breathed. _

_His unsure expression told her he didn't quite believe it, so she stood up on her toes, pulling him down to her as she wrapped her arms around his neck and captured his lips in a kiss. _

_Now she felt all the rigidity go from his body as he leaned down in to her, his arms wrapping around her waist. _

_The kiss deepened as they remained like that for the next, several seconds, and in the back of her mind, Jeannie wished she could just call this whole thing off, that she could just go with him to bed. _

_She knew Jack wished that too. _

_But her parent's would be there any minute now. They'd been insistent, most especially when she'd told them about Jack, about how he was living with her. _

_They'd never met Jack before, always out of town the times he'd come over to her house, and she'd only ever mentioned him in passing, telling them he was her friend in school. Which had been the truth. But she hadn't let on when they began dating, already five years ago, because of just this sort of thing. She didn't want them interacting with Jack, knowing how judgmental they could be. _

_They already had shown signs of disapproval, that _their_ daughter was friends with a boy from the _Narrows_. Them finding out she and that same boy had become an item, she thought, was only inviting difficulty. _

_But they'd told her over the phone that they were planning on visiting her, staying for the weekend at the apartment _they_ were renting out. And she'd had no choice then but to reveal to them that Jack was staying there with her, and subsequently, when they'd asked _why_, reveal to them that he and her were together, as in, a _couple_. _

_Jack had only moved in with her two months prior. He had no where else to go. Certainly he couldn't go back to his father's. It seemed likely the man would kill Jack if he were to ever do so. He'd nearly done it the night Jack had finally left, shown up at her door all cut to ribbons and his nose smashed in._

_The bastard had actually shown up at her door at one point, a week after the fact. He must have figured Jack would come back, and when he didn't, he'd actually gone to lengths to find _her_, knowing his son would likely come to her. _

_She hadn't been fool enough to open the door though, when she saw him standing there through the peep hole. _

_Jack had been sitting on the couch, reading a book, when the knock sounded, loud and heavy, and he'd frozen, looking up at the door. When Jeannie had gone to answer it, he'd stood, stepping after her and grabbing hold of her arm, shaking his head. _

_She'd told him not to worry, that she was going to check to see who it was before opening it. That hadn't seemed to ease his worry, but he let go her arm then, watching anxiously as she made her way to the door. _

_She'd actually felt her breathe catch in her throat when she looked through the peep hole and saw his father. For whatever reason, she hadn't really expected him to come there. It struck her as sick, perverted in some way, that he refused to let his grown, adult son go. That he'd come there looking for him, to bring him back._

"_It's him." She'd said quietly, gravely. And when she'd looked back to Jack, she remembered he'd looked as though he might pass out. _

"_D-don't answer it." He'd stumbled, and she'd shaken her head. _

"_I won't." She reassured. _

"_C-come over… come over h-here." He'd continued to stammer, wanting her away from the door, away from _him_. But she hadn't listened, instead turning back towards the door and calling through it. _

"_What do you want?" She'd barked. _

"_Jeannie, no…" She'd heard Jack behind her, moving towards her, his voice wavering, like maybe he was on the verge of tears. _

_But then his father had snapped back, his voice harsh and cruel, and Jack had stopped dead in his tracks, paralyzed with fear._

"_Open up!" The man had spit. "I'm here for Jack."_

"_Jack isn't here." Jeannie had said calmly back._

"_Like _hell_ he isn't!" His father spit. "I know that little fag is in there! Open this fucking door or I'll break it in!"_

_She'd glanced back at Jack, who looked utterly mortified, his eyes huge with terror, his entire body rigid and still. She could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, as though on the verge of hyperventilation. _

_When she'd turned back to the door, she'd called…_

"_If you don't go away right now, I'm calling the police." She said sternly, without hesitation. _

_She heard the man scoff._

"_You think I won't do it? I'll have your ass hauled off to jail faster then you can say lickity split, you _bastard_!"_

"_JACK! JACKIE-BOY! YOU IN THERE SON?" He ignored her, calling through the door. "Come on out Jackie. I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise. I just… just want to talk things over. Just want to set things right. Listen I… I didn't mean for things to get so out of hand the other day, I didn't mean to do what I did."_

_She remembered turning back to Jack, and the look on his face had made her feel nauseous. He'd had tears in his eyes, she could see them. Glistening under her living room lights, and in them also there was pain, and longing. She could see he wanted to _believe _the rotten sonofabitch. That maybe he even _did_. And she recalled how she'd quickly put her finger to her nose, to hush him, to keep him quiet. _

_She could see the pure, unadulterated fear, fear at the prospect of disobeying the man, of angering him through disobedience, and she glimpsed in action the first time how it was his father had controlled him all these years, how he'd had such a strong hold on Jack. Through manipulation, taking advantage of Jack's too trusting nature, and through the promise of violence, of brutality. Jack was about to go to him, she could see it, to do as his father told him. _

_She'd held her hand up and shook her head vigorously at him. _

"_You're wasting your time Mr. Napier. Jack isn't here." She called again. "Now I suggest you go NOW, or I'm calling the police."_

_But when she'd again glanced back towards Jack, she saw him stepping for the door._

"_I… I h-have to g-go to him." He'd stammered, moving her way. _

_She'd turned fully towards him._

"_Jack, no…"_

"_I-I h-have to go… He'll… h-he'll k-kill me if I don't."_

"_He'll kill you if you DO Jack." Jeannie had insisted, plastering herself against the door._

_But it had been like he couldn't hear her, wasn't listening, until he was standing right in front of her, trying to find a way past._

"_Please Jeannie…" He'd implored. "Please I… I have to go to him. L-let me past." _

_But she'd just shaken her head. _

"_Jack, I hear you in there boy." His father suddenly called. "Come on out." _

_Jack visibly swallowed, his eyes moving up. And he reached for the knob, between Jeannie's elbow and torso. _

"_Oh no you DON'T." She'd snapped, grabbing his wrist and pushing him away. _

_He'd flinched then, stepping instinctually back at the tone in her voice, and the rough way she'd touched him. And almost immediately she regretted it, as she realized what she'd done, the way she'd sounded. _

_She knew better then that, knew better then to ever talk to him that way, as though she were commanding him._

_He was looking at her with worry in his eyes, remorse, and she could tell he thought he'd done something to anger her, to make her lash out like that. She could see he was blaming himself, and her brow furrowed._

"_I'm sorry Jack." She'd said quietly. "I didn't mean that. Just… this is for your own good baby. You can't go to him. You have to stay or he'll just keep hurting you honey."_

_Several, tense moments past between them in silence then, as he continued to look at her, unsure and afraid. But then, suddenly, he stepped back, blinking, looking down._

"_Y-you're right." He'd said quietly in dawning realization. "You're right."_

_Her relief had been immense, and she'd relayed the news with pleasure to his father that Jack wouldn't be coming out, reminding him again that he had better leave unless he wanted to spend the night in a jail cell._

_Finally, after a stand off of several minutes, Jack's father had grumbled that "this wasn't over", that he'd be back, before finally leaving. _

_Jack's own relief when he'd at last gone had been palpable. He'd literally collapsed down, on to the floor, looking completely exhausted, and scared._

_He hadn't been able to sleep that night, despite her efforts to calm him down, to tell him it was alright. At one point she'd fallen asleep, around two in the morning, and woken three hours later to find him, still awake, sat on the edge of her mattress, his hands gripping tightly to it. She'd coaxed him in to lying back down, running her hand across his stomach, gently, trying to relax him. And eventually, he _had_ fallen asleep. But it had been fitful, full of bad dreams for him, and he'd woken only an hour later, again unable to fall back to unconsciousness. _

_Now her parents knew of him, knew they were together, knew he was living with her, and there was nothing she could do to stop them from coming. This was their apartment, after all. She thought she was dreading this as much as Jack very obviously was._

_The silence she'd received over the line when she'd spoken to them told her just about everything she needed to know about how this whole affair was going to play out. _

_But she didn't have any say in the matter. They'd been doubly insistent then that they come over and "meet the boy." As her father had put it._

_Reluctantly she pulled back from him, breaking the kiss, feeling twice as bad when she saw the disappointed look in his eyes._

"_Come on baby." She said quietly. "They're going to be here soon, so you should get the rest of your suit together." _

_He blinked at her, giving her a vague nod before turning and taking up his jacket, slipping it on._

_As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Jack immediately looked up, towards the living room, his expression uncertain._

_When she'd told him her parents would be coming over, he'd been practically mortified, sure he was going to disappoint them in some way. But she'd told him not to worry about it, that whatever they thought didn't matter. And she'd meant it. Whether her parent's liked Jack or not, she couldn't have cared less. It was _him_ she was worried about, knowing how insecure he got, how easily upset._

_She breathed in, going to him and placing her hands along his upper arms, grasping them softly. _

"_Okay Jack. They're here. Just relax sweetheart. I promise it'll be okay."_

_He nodded, his eyes fixed on the living area, just outside their bedroom door. _

"_Come on." She said, moving her hand to his, grasping it and pulling him along behind her._

_She could feel his tension return as they entered the living room, and she found herself swallowing, letting him go and going for the door._

_She took one more deep breath, exhaling before placing her hand on the knob, checking the peephole to make sure it was them, then unlatching the deadbolt and chain and opening the thing up._

"_Darling!" Her mother exclaimed, opening her arms wide and pulling her in to a hug. _

_She hugged stiffly back, her eyes moving up to her father, who stood by, staring in to the apartment, and she just knew he was staring at Jack. _

"_Hi Mom." She said flatly, pulling away, letting the older woman know she didn't want to be held. "_Dad_…" She said, a little more loudly to draw his attention to her and away from Jack. _

_It worked, his eyes flitted down, taking her in. _

"_Hi sweetheart!" He said airily and she forced a smile. _

"_Hi." She answered. _

_And for a few, awkward moments, they all just stood there, looking at each other. _

"_Well, aren't you going to invite us in?" Her mother finally questioned, laughing fakely. _

"_Oh, yeah… sorry." Jeannie blinked, stepping aside, giving them passage. _

_When she turned, she saw Jack, standing with his arms folded, his eyes as usual cast to the ground, looking anxious. _

_She felt the irrational urge to slam the door in her parent's faces and go to him, protect him. _

_But she didn't._

_She let them through._

_And she felt her stomach flip as she saw her father go immediately up to Jack, staring up at him, the ridiculous, plastic smile he used on all his clients plastered to his face, her mother following close behind. _

_As soon as they'd cleared the threshold, she'd pushed the door shut and moved towards Jack, hoping to put herself between them. _

_But it was too late, her father was already right in front of him. _

"_So, you must be Jack Napier!" He began, his voice loud and confident, and Jack had lifted his eyes briefly, looking at him a moment before they again fell and he gave a weak nod. _

"_Me and LeAnn here have heard so much about you!" He went on. "Though I have to say, Jeanette here never told us how _tall_ you were!" He laughed. "Boys like a tree! Isn't he sweetie?" He looked to his wife, and she laughed with him._

"_Certainly is!" _

_Jeannie could actually feel her teeth grind together in annoyance. Her parent's had always been so transparent. She hated the superficial way they acted. But her Dad was a hot shot lawyer, and her mother a stay at home wife, and she supposed their behavior went with the territory of being constantly on TV, doing some high profile defense of yet another high profile criminal. _

_She's reached Jack's side by then, reaching up and taking his hand in her own, a show of solidarity. _

_The flash if disapproval in the eyes of both her mother and father didn't escape her, but she chose to ignore it. _

"_So, Jack…" Her father began again, obviously not intending to let up. "Jeanette here tells us you two've been dating for, what is it, _five years_?"_

_Jack said nothing, and her father continued._

"_That's quite a while! Needless to say…" He laughed. "Me and LeAnn here were pretty shocked to find out. She never mentioned anything like that to us before." _

"_Listen, Dinner's almost ready…" Jeannie cut in, trying to get her father away from talking at Jack. "So why don't we all move in to the dinning area, hmm?" _

_Her parent's had seemed taken aback by her sudden aggressiveness, but nonetheless nodded, complying. _

_She pulled Jack along with her, giving his hand a squeeze, trying to assure him that it would be alright, as her mother and father stepped behind them. _

_But she could see within a few minutes of her serving the food she'd prepared, after all of them had been seated at her small dining table, that things weren't just going to be "all right". That her father was bent on grilling Jack, on making him as uncomfortable as possible. _

"_So, you're awfully quiet over there Jack." He began, chewing on his mashed potatoes. _

_Jeannie sucked in sharply, rolling her eyes._

"_Jack's just quiet Dad." She tried to intervene, but he waved her off. _

"_I'm talking to _him _honey, if you don't mind." He said, not taking his eyes from Jack. _

_Jeannie glared at him. _

"_So, what's the matter son? Don't you have anything to say?" _

_Jack had been sitting, pulled in on himself, visibly uncomfortable, hoping silently that he'd be able to get through this without having to engage much. He was so afraid of embarrassing Jeannie, especially in front of her parents. _

_Both of them looked incredibly glamorous to him, the father dressed in an expensive looking, grey suit, one which made his own look as cheap as it was. He was distinguished, stood and sat straight, good posture, and brimming with assuredness. Her mother was equally so, wearing a beautiful, red dress which fit her form exceptionally well, and sporting what looked to be a genuine diamond necklace and earrings, her hair highly stylized, like some kind of movie star. _

_Jack could see from her beauty where Jeannie had gotten her own. _

_He glanced up, trying with all his effort to maintain eye contact with the older man. He didn't know how to answer his question though. How to explain to them why he hadn't spoken a word since they'd arrived. _

_He fidgeted with his napkin, running his tongue over his rapidly drying lips, and he found himself unable to hold his gaze, his eyes flitting back down. _

_Oh God, what was he supposed to _say_?_

"_I-I…" He started, his mind working frantically to come up with some satisfactory answer. "I'm s-sorry Mr. Reinking." He began, his voice incredibly soft. _

_Jeannie watched the frown which appeared on her mother's lips with agitation. She could see them _judging_ him and it made her want to just slap both of them right across the face._

"_I'm sorry Son. What'd you say?" Her father started. _

"_I… I s-said I'm sorry." Jack repeated, still not able to look up, his voice just as quiet. _

"_No need to apologize Jack. I'm just wondering why it is you've been so mum over there. Haven't said a word all night, I don't think." _

_He was being condescending and Jeannie felt sure she was going to tell him to shut the hell up any moment. _

"_He's just _quiet_ Dad. He doesn't talk much, unlike _some_ people I know." She said instead, not bothering to be subtle with who she was referring to. _

_He glanced at her, not missing her implication. _

"_Is that a fact?" He began, looking back to Jack. "So are you shy Jack, or are you just trying to be like so many of these kids today? Purposefully aloof, too cool to comment and all that?" _

_Jack's fingers tightened around his napkin, his brow furrowing. _

_He could feel his stress rising. _

_Oh God, what if he said the wrong thing? Would Jeannie get mad at him?_

"_M-my in-intent was not to be r-rude Sir." He stammered._

_For a moment, Jeannie's father stared blankly. As though confused._

_And then he laughed._

"_You're puttin' me on kid!" He chuckled. "What's with the formality, huh?"_

"_Why don't you just leave him alone, huh Dad?" Jeannie again tried to intervene. _

"_What?" He asked, turning towards her. "I'm just trying to have a conversation with the young man honey!" _

"Yeah, right_." She thought bitterly._

_This wasn't going to go well. Her father thought Jack was being cute, talking that way on purpose._

_That wasn't it._

_That's just the way Jack talked. He'd caught countless grief for it during their days in school, people constantly making fun of him for it, calling him all kinds of names and mimicking him back to his face, trying to make him sound stupid. _

_Fucking idiots, she thought, _they_ were the stupid ones._

"_I get it kid. You think we're the stuffy parents and you've got to act accordingly." Her father continued, turning his attention to Jack again. _

"_I-I'm sorry Sir?" He asked, confused. _

_Jeannie frowned. _

_She knew he wouldn't understand what her obnoxious Dad was talking about. Why would he? Jack wasn't the one pretending to be something he wasn't. _They_ were._

"_You can drop the act kid. No need to condescend us." _

_Jack's eyes went slightly wide, and he glanced up, feeling suddenly mortified. _

"_I-I-I'm not Sir. I'm not tr-trying to be c-condes-scending." He tried desperately to explain, not understanding why the man thought that he was. _

_Jeannie reached out, putting her hand on his, and he looked at her, a pleading expression in his eyes. _

"_He's _not_ being condescending Dad. That's just the way Jack talks. _Alright_? He's very polite!"_

_Both her parent's looked at her briefly, before returning their gaze's to Jack. _

"_Really?" Her father began, clear disbelief in his voice. _

"Really _Dad." Jeannie went on. "Now _please_, drop it." _

_For a few moments, the man said nothing, keeping his eyes on Jack, who continued to look at Jeannie, and she now looked at him, a kind of silent discussion being shared between the two. _

_And then her father shrugged.  
_

"_Alright then. Sorry about that Jack." He smiled, the expression clearly false. _

_Jack barely glanced at him before his eyes again shifted to Jeannie, and then down in to his lap. _

"_So, you've moved in to my daughter's apartment. That's… convenient. It's always nice not having to worry about things like rent and such."_

"_Dad…" Jeannie seethed through clenched teeth, but he ignored her. _

"_You in college Jack?" _

_Jack kept his eyes focused down, shaking his head slowly, feeling his face flush hot with embarrassment, sure now that Jeannie would be ashamed. _

"_You're _not_?" Her father went on, sounding surprised. _

"_N-no Sir." Jack answered, his voice barely a whisper. _

_Jeannie wanted nothing more in that moment then to throw her parent's out, but she didn't think she very well could, considering they were paying for the place. _

"_Well why not?" He went on. "Jeannette here's always talked about what a smart boy you are! If I'm not mistaken, you were even given a scholarship to attend Cherry Heights Middle and High School. Isn't that right?" _

_Jack again nodded, still not looking up._

"_Well, not just _anyone_ can get in to those school's Jack. Coming from the Narrows as you _do_, you could only have gotten in on your smarts, hmm? College is very important Jack, especially if you're concerned with supporting a person other then _yourself_."_

"_I… I know." He said. _

"_Then why aren't you in school?" The older man continued to press. _

_And now Jack was stuck, he didn't know how to answer, and he could feel his hands curling tighter around his napkin, the anxiety rising up in him._

"_I… I…" He tried, his voice trembling, feeling suddenly as though his mouth were stuffed with cotton. _

"_He just didn't want to _go_ Dad." Again Jeannie interrupted. "Jack doesn't need college anyway. He's incredibly talented and smart. He can easily make it on his own, doing whatever he wants." _

_At this her father chuckled, looking amused. _

"_Is that a fact?" He asked. _

"Yes_." Jeannie was quick to answer. "It is. Jack can do so many things. He's a brilliant chemist, he's got immense theatrical talent. People like him don't have to resort to some kind of _degree_ to be successful Dad." _

"_Well darling, you'll forgive me, but I just can't agree with that. Jack here's in to chemistry, huh? Well, right there, if he wants to pursue that, he's going to have to get a degree of some kind. No lab is going to hire him without one."_

_Jeannie's whole expression had twisted in to disgust. Describing Jack's genius level understanding of both chemical and bio-genetic engineering as him simply being "in to" it sounded patently absurd to her. _

_She knew he would end up teaching those _professors_ more about the scientific fields then they could ever teach him._

_She scoffed, folding her arms and turning away. _

"_No… no he… he's right Jeannie. I… I'm not qualified. I wouldn't qualify to work in… in any lab." Jack said softly._

_Jeannie stared at him a moment, before looking back accusingly at her father, as if to say "Look what you did!"._

_But the man only smiled, nodding. _

"_See, even _Jack_ agrees with me Jeanette." He said smugly, keeping his eyes on the young man. _

_A moment of silence past between them all, and then her father continued._

"_So I'm just wondering Jack, how'd you end up living here? I mean, where were you before? You must have had your own place? It's a bit curious that you'd move in to your girlfriend's apartment, don't you think?"_

_It was official, Jeannie was going to murder her father. She just was…_

"_I… I w-was living with my… my father." Jack answered, his voice hushed._

_The sudden tension in the air was almost visible as the man stared, incredulous, like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. _

"_You… were living with your father?" He asked, shock apparent in his voice. _

_No one said anything._

"_Well whatever _for_?" He went on. "You're what, 21, 22 years old? You mean to tell me you've never provided for yourself?"_

_And it was like Jack almost shrank down in his seat, completely humiliated, his head bowing lower, his hands moving from the table to his lap, like he was trying to disappear in to himself. _

_When Jeannie's father received no answer, he pressed more. _

"_Do you even have a job _now_?" _

_Jeannie was watching Jack, her brow furrowed in sudden and deep concern, seeing the familiar look of shame on his face. _

"_He's looking Dad." She spit, allowing her anger to really show now. "He's looking for work."_

_And he had been. He'd been trying so hard, going out every day for the past month and a half, trying to get hired anywhere he could. _

_She'd told him not to worry about it, that she didn't mind supporting him for a while, but he'd been insistent, not comfortable with the idea of free loading off of her. _

_But it had been difficult for him, as she knew it would be. His limited social skills weren't exactly conducive to job interviews. He'd been turned down on the spot by every single person from whom he'd sought employment so far, and it was horrible for her to watch, to see how the rejection continued to chip away at his already low self-esteem. _

_She wanted to tell him to stop, to forget about finding work until the two of them were married, as soon as she graduated college in the coming spring. But he'd been so determined these last, few weeks, had so desperately wanted to find a job, and she didn't want to make him feel as if she didn't think he could get one._

_But his inability to get hired doing even the most menial work was wearing at him, and every day when he would return to the apartment, every day he was unable to look her in the eye for the humility he felt, was a day her own heart broke even more._

_"Well I'm sorry Jeanette…" her father began. "But that's just not suitable. It's all good and well to make claims of what ones capable of. But it's another matter entirely as to whether those claims are true, or even _realistic_. I mean, how does he expect to support you?"_

"_Dad!" Jeannie finally snapped. "Enough! This discussion is _over_. Alright? Jack will find work eventually. There's nothing more that needs to be said!"_

_Everyone had gone quiet after that, and the remainder of the dinner had stayed such, Jeannie's parent's periodically looking up, glancing at Jack, then at her, then at each other, giving one another that knowing stare. _

_Jeannie couldn't remember a time when she'd felt so _annoyed_._

_Her parent's had always been such pompous, self-important asses. Much as she hated to admit it. It wasn't as though they hadn't treated her well enough, treated her right, by societies standards. Provided her with every kind of luxury and benefit one could ask for in this life._

_It didn't change the fact that, growing up, she'd spent more time around the nanny then she ever had around either of them._

_She told herself she shouldn't complain, that she'd had it good, especially when she looked at Jack, looked at the kind of horrible life he'd had, how horrible his father had been to him. Her life had seemed like heaven on earth compared to his. _

_But one couldn't help the bitterness, she supposed, when they'd never felt any kind of _real _love from their mother and father._

_It seemed quickly the dinner was over, her parent's plates wiped clean of food. Glancing at Jack's, Jeannie noticed he'd barely eaten at all. He wasn't a big eater to begin with, but it always concerned her when he left his food practically untouched. Usually it meant he was troubled over something._

_She was about to stand, to tell Jack to come with her in to the kitchen, to "help her clean up", but her mother beat her to it._

"_Come along dear…" She began in her saccharine sweet tone. "Come in to the kitchen with me and I'll help you clean up. I want to talk with you about some things." _

_Jeannie couldn't help the look of frustration which past over her features. _

"_I was going to ask Jack to help me…" _

_But her mother waved her off, already beginning to stand. _

"_Let the boy rest dear. I'm sure he's tired after… such a long day looking for work." She smiled, and Jeannie didn't miss the condensation in her voice. _

_She looked to her father. _

_It was clear they were trying to get her and Jack in to separate rooms. For what, she had no idea. _

"_Why don't you come Dad?" She asked, not wanting to leave Jack alone with the man. _

"_Oh, I'm a bit tired sweetheart." He said. "I hope you don't mind, I think I'll just sit back and relax a while."_

_Her brow furrowed, and she looked to Jack, who continued to sit, still, looking uneasy._

"_It'll be okay Jeannette." Her father again started. "Besides, it'll give me and Jack here a chance to talk." _

_That was exactly what she _didn't_ want._

_But her mother had already taken hold of her wrist, was already pulling her along, towards the kitchen._

_And it was as soon as she'd been pulled through the swinging door, disappearing in to the next room, that her father turned towards Jack, grinning, his lips pulled in to his most charming and charismatic smile. _

"_Come on Jack." He began. "Let's move in to the living room, so we can have a talk. Just you and me. Man to man."_

_Jack glanced up at him nervously, hesitant. Jeannie had seemed bothered by her parents, worried in some way, though he wasn't sure why._

_What he did know is that he didn't want to upset her parent's in any way, didn't want to disappoint them, though he felt already that he had. _

_Her father stood, cocking his head towards the living room. _

"_Come on." He said, than started towards it, obviously expecting Jack to follow. _

_And Jack did, feeling his anxiety begin to rise as he stepped through the entry way, in to the small area, and Jeannie's father turned around to look at him, still smiling._

_Jack stood, his eyes fixing on the floor as he folded his hands in front of him, his shoulders hunched. _

"_So, Jack…" the older man started. "five years you've been dating my daughter, huh?"_

_Jack nodded vaguely, still not looking up. _

"_I'll tell ya, I wish she'd told me. It's not something you should keep from your parents, especially when the relationship's been going on so long."_

_Jack said nothing, and the man eyed him. _

"_I mean, it just seems strange…" He continued, turning. He glanced at Jack from his periphery a moment. "That she wouldn't tell either me or my wife of you. Like she… I don't know… like she was trying to _hide_ you."_

_Still Jack remained silent. _

_He'd never thought about whether Jeannie had told her parents about him. He'd never been concerned with it, one way or the other. All he cared about was that he and Jeannie had each other. That's all that mattered. _

"_You know Jack, in my line of work, you see a lot of… well, I guess the word's _denial_. Now, sometimes people deny they've done something simply because they don't want to go to jail. Sometimes they're telling the truth, and they really _aren't_ guilty. And other times, well, they deny the crime because they're ashamed of it. I've seen that one a lot. People hiding information from you because they feel wrong about it, feel bad…" _

_Again he glanced at Jack, who still hadn't moved. _

_He felt confused, unsure of what Jeannie's father was saying._

"_I… I'm sorry Sir?" He questioned. _

_The older man sighed. _

"_Well, not to be too _forward_ Jack, but… what I'm saying is… Jeannie's always told us about any developments in her life she was _proud _of. She's always made us privy. Her not telling us about you…" _

_Jack finally glanced up at him, blinking. _

_He still didn't understand. _

"_Well, it smacks of that _shame_ Jack. Makes me think she didn't want us to know about you because…" He sighed, as though bothered by what he was about to say. "Because maybe… maybe she was ashamed of you…" _

_At this Jack's brow had furrowed, his expression falling in to one of distress._

"_A… asha-shamed?" He started, his voice trembling. _

_Her father waved his hands about. _

"_I don't mean to alarm you Jack. Not at all. I'm just… concerned. You understand? Jeannie's never kept anything _important_ hidden from us. She's always told us, without hesitation. The only times when she hasn't… the only times that's happened is when she was too embarrassed to."_

_Jack looked truly disturbed now, his forehead creasing heavily. He could feel his heart pounding hard in his chest, his breath coming more erratic._

_Was… was her father right? Had Jeannie not told them about him because… because she was ashamed to? Because he was an embarrassment to her? _

_Oh God, he didn't think he could handle such a thought. _

_He could feel his throat tighten, tears already beginning to threaten at the back of his eyes. _

_Please God, don't let that be true. Don't…_

_Suddenly the older man laughed, lightly, coming near to him and wrapping an arm around Jack's shoulders, giving him a squeeze._

"_Oh, but I'm sure I'm just overreacting!" He exclaimed. "I just would hate to see a young, good looking kid like you get hurt, is all."_

_Jack went stiff at the contact, his eyes falling back to the floor. He was trembling, almost imperceptibly. _

_He couldn't get the thought from his mind now. _

_He was scared._

_And suddenly he felt so alone. _

_Jeannie's father seemed to remain oblivious to the abrupt turmoil in the young man, and went on talking. _

"_You know, I always thought Jeannette would wind up marrying little Eddy Baker. Well, he's not so little now. Guy _mountain climbs_ as a hobby!" He laughed. "But he and Jeannette practically grew up together. They were always with each other, playing together. Since Kindergarten, in fact! Jeannette always had the biggest crush on him. I remember how she couldn't stop talking about him, all the time. It was Eddy this and Eddy that. I'm telling you, she was _obsessed_!" He shrugged. "Ahh, but he's up at Harvard Law now, soon to graduate. A lawyer, like myself! A real winner, that kid. I'm sure if he hadn't moved from Gotham like that they might still be together."_

_Jack wanted to pull away, to get out of this room, to hide away somewhere, where no one could see him, no one could touch him. His head was spinning, filling with thought of inadequacy and self-loathing. _

_He'd been a fool, he thought. A total idiot. _

_But no surprises there. _

_He'd always been an idiot. _

_It had never made sense to him, why Jeannie would want anything to do with him. She was so much more then he ever deserved. Too beautiful, too smart, too talented for a loser like him to have any chance with. _

_It wouldn't be long before she told him it just wasn't going to work out, once she saw he couldn't provide for her, once she saw how incapable he was of giving her what she deserved._

_He felt sure he was going to cry, the sting of tears in his eyes. But he willed them back, not wanting to make any more a fool of himself._

_Please, couldn't he just disappear? _

"_What a load of horse shit!" _

_Jeannie's voice suddenly rang out, and the both of them turned to see her, standing in the entry way, staring at them, her arms crossed over her chest. _

_Quickly, she stepped forward, towards them. _

"_I never had a crush on Ed Baker. The guy was a total douche bag. Used to constantly harass and make fun of me. The little bastard made my first five years of school a living hell. And besides, if rumors are true, the guys a total perv. Heard he's in to water sports porn or something gross like that."_

_Her father had unwound his arm from Jack's shoulders by then, taking a step back, and Jeannie took his place, grabbing hold of Jack's hand in her own, squeezing down on it. _

_She could see immediately how troubled he was, how upset, and she felt her lip curl in disgust at her father. _

"_You know, _Dad_, I knew you were capable of some really low shit. Being a lawyer and all, I guess it goes with the territory. But this really takes the cake. Trying to convince by boyfriend that I'm ashamed of him because I haven't told you about him? Please." _

_She looked up at Jack. _

"_Jack, baby…." _

_He glanced down at her, and she could see the horrible pain in his eyes. It infuriated her, that her father had caused that in him, that he'd hurt Jack like that. _

"_Don't _listen _to him sweetheart. He's _lying_. I didn't tell them about you because of _this_. Because I knew they'd try and break us up!" She reached up, placing her free hand along his cheek. "I love you Jack. You know that. I love you more then anyone else in the world. And I couldn't be more _proud_ of you. Alright? Okay?" _

_Jack swallowed, hard, blinking back the tears still pooled in his eyes as slowly he nodded._

_She glared at her father then, her expression twisted in to one of disgust._

"_I want you to go. The both of you. _Now_."_

_Her father laughed, taken aback. _

"_Jeanette, honey, don't be irrational now. I was just concerned. I didn't understand why you hadn't told us about him." _

"_Save it Dad." She spit. "Do you think I'm stupid or something? Like I can't see _exactly _what you're doing!"_

"_He only has your best interests at heart dear." _

_She turned to find her mother, coming in to the room. _

"_He's just worried about you." _

"_No, Mom, no he's not. And neither are you! I want you _both _out of here, right now."_

"_Jeanette, you're being silly dear." Her mother went on, seeming to ignore the anger in her draughts voice. "And anyway, I think this is a valid topic of discussion. You can't possibly stand there and deny how odd it is you've kept this from us for so long."_

_Jeannie stared back at the older woman, incredulous, her mouth hung slightly open. _

"_I just got through telling you _why_." She hissed. "Neither of you can be trusted!"_

_And now her mother looked angry. _

"_That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. How dare you say that about your father and I?" _

"_How _dare_ I?" Jeannie scoffed, half-laughing. "I just caught Dad trying to plant _lies_ in Jack's head, trying to make him think I _hate_ him, and you ask me how it is I could say something like that? I think it's _you_ who's being ridiculous!" _

"_Young lady, I won't allow you to talk to your mother that way!" Her father suddenly cut in, stepping towards her. "I want you to apologize to her, right now!"_

_Jeannie could scarcely believe this. She couldn't believe what complete _assholes_ her parents were._

_She let go Jack's hand, turning towards her Dad and pointing in his face. _

"_I will _not_." She fumed. "I want _you_ to apologize to Jack."_

_The older man's eyes furrowed, his mouth pulling in to a frown. _

"_Apologize for _what_?" He spit. "I was only airing my _suspicions_ to the boy. It seems to me as though you're _using_ him Jeanette!" _

_Jeannie's mouth fell open, and it was abrupt, the rage which exploded inside her._

"_Using him?" She exclaimed. "USING HIM? How fucking ABSURD are you?"_

"_Jeanette, calm down!" Her mother started, but Jeannie just cut her off, turning towards her. _

"_NO!" She raged. "Don't tell me to _calm down_. I will _not_ calm down! You're like poison, the both of you! Trying to ruin my life. To ruin Jack's!" _

"_YOU'RE WAY OUT OF LINE YOUNG LADY!" Her father's voice suddenly boomed, his court voice, as Jeannie's knew it. _

_She turned back to him, her face contorted in hatred._

"YOU'RE _OUT OF LINE, DAD!" She screamed. "YOU BARGE IN TO MY LIFE, TRYING TO TEAR THE WHOLE _FUCKING_ THING TO PIECES! ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS YOURSELF! THAT'S ALL EITHER OF YOU HAVE _EVER_ CARED ABOUT!"_

"_JEANETTE, WE WILL NOT TAKE THIS FROM YOU!" Her father yelled. "IF YOU DON'T APOLOGIZE THIS _INSTANT,_ YOUR MOTHER AND I AREN'T GOING TO PAY THE RENT ON THIS APARTMENT ANYMORE!"_

_But Jeannie only laughed. _

"_FINE, GO AHEAD! SEE IF I CARE! I DON'T WANT YOUR _FUCKING _MONEY ANYWAY!"_

_They continued to scream at one another, all three of their voices beginning to blend together as they yelled on top on the other, the words growing more heated, more hateful and vicious. _

_And Jack had stepped back, away from them, staring with wide and frightened eyes. _

_He'd never seen Jeannie like this. Never heard her scream before, never seen her so _angry_. _

_Suddenly her mother turned towards him, gesturing wildly._

"LOOK _AT HIM JEANETTE!" She yelled. "HE'S JUST _STANDING_ THERE! HE ISN'T EVEN _SAYING_ ANYTHING! THERE'S SOMETHING _WRONG_ THERE JEANETTE. THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH _HIM_!"_

"_NO MOM!" Jeannie screamed back. "THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH _YOU_! YOU AND DAD _BOTH_."_

"_S-stop it…" Jack stuttered, his voice too quiet to be heard over the continued shouting. "P-please… please s-stop it." _

_He was terrified, his heart racing, a horrible fear consuming him. He felt suddenly faint, like he was going to pass out, his legs feeling weak beneath him. _

"_Stop…" He continued, and still his voice couldn't be heard. "Please…" _

_He continued to back away._

"_Sto… s-stop i-it… s-stop it p-please… _Please_…"_

_But they weren't listening, they couldn't hear him, didn't even seem to know he was there._

"_THINK ABOUT ANY _KIDS_ YOU MIGHT HAVE JEANETTE!" Her mother continued to scream. "WHAT IF WHATEVER'S _WRONG_ WITH HIM ENDS UP BEING _HERIDITARY_? WHAT IF IT GETS PAST ON TO MY GRANDCHILD?"_

"_FUCK YOU MOM!" Jeannie yelled. "_FUCK _YOU! IF JACK AND I HAVE ANY KIDS, YOU CAN BE _DAMN_ SURE NIETHER OF YOU WILL HAVE _ANYTHING_ TO DO WITH THEM!"_

_Her mother scoffed._

"_YOU SPOILED LITTLE BRAT!"_

_Jack's breath had started to come in short, rapid bursts, shallow and weak, the room spinning in dizzying circles as the fear grew more, grew worse in him._

"_Stop it…" _

_His hands came up, over his ears, his eyes clamping shut, tight._

"_STOP IT!" He cried, his voice rising above their own, broken and terrified. _

_Everyone stopped, their arguing coming to a dead halt, and they turned, towards him. _

_Jeannie's eyes went huge in horror at the sight. _

_Jack had backed himself up, against the wall, his hands gripping tight to his head, his eyes squeezed closed. He was shaking, trembling, his face contorted in to a grimace, as though he were suffering through the worst kind of pain. _

_He looked mortified, scared out of his mind. And slowly he began to sink down, until he was crouched on the floor, in a ball, rocking slowly back and forward. _

"_Please…" He whimpered, seemingly to himself, his voice a whisper. "Please, please, please… don't do this… don't… I-I-I'm s-sorry… Please don't…"_

_Jeannie's heart fell, tears almost instantly springing to her eyes and falling. _

_She went to him._

"_Jack, Jack, Oh God, I'm sorry baby. I'm sorry." She cried, kneeling down in front of him, taking gentle hold of his wrists. "Please Jack, Oh God, I'm so sorry. Please…"_

_But it was like he couldn't hear her, didn't even know she was there. He just kept rocking back and forth, shaking his head, his eyes refusing to open, like he was terrified of what he might see, like he was trying to hide._

_And suddenly she realized what was wrong, what she'd done, and her own horror grew. _

_His father, oh God, his father. _

_This was all Jack had ever known, this was what his life had been, what he'd wanted so desperately to escape. _

_And she'd only exposed him to more of it._

_To more violence and anger and hatred, more viciousness and cruelty._

"_Jack, baby…" She gripped his wrists tighter, her tears coming hard now. "Please, I'm _so_, _so_ sorry. Please look at me honey. _Please_! I'm… I'm not like him Jack. Please. I promise you I'm not!"_

_But he couldn't hear her. He'd disappeared, gone in to himself._

_To escape this. Escape _her_._

_Oh Jesus…_

_She turned towards her parents, who stood, motionless, staring in absolute shock._

"_Get out!" She raged._

_Her mother's eyes flickered up to her. _

"_This… this is what I was talking about Jeanette!" She started. "What the hell _is_ this? How can you _be _with someone like this?"_

"_Get OUT! GET OUT NOW!" Jeannie screamed one last time. _

_And her parent's didn't need to be told again, the both of them turning and hurrying off, towards the door, letting themselves out without another word._

_She'd turned back to Jack, who remained as he was, curled in on himself, his hands still clamped over his ears, his eyes still shut tight, he was still shaking. And whispering to himself, over and over, begging for it to stop._

_She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her, against her chest, tears continuing to run down her face._

_Oh God, what had she done? What had she _done_?_

_It would be hours before Jack came out of it, before he seemed to even know where he was, or what had happened. _

_And when he finally did, the two of them were still sat on the floor, in the middle of the living room, clinging to one another. Holding to each other as though their lives depended upon it._


	19. Chapter 19

**Okay guys. I have a HUGE surprise for you! One of my stories readers, Hoodd, has drawn a piece of art depicting Jack/Joker and Jeannie, with Jack's father looming in the background. It's an absolutely stunning piece, I think, and I wanted to share it with all of you. I'm just so flattered and appreciative that Hoodd would take the time and use their talent to depict the characters in my story. So, THANK YOU to Hoodd for doing this. I can't say enough how grateful and in awe I am of your talents. Here's the link guys, just copy and past it in your address bar and get rid of the spaces. Please check it out, and hope you also enjoy this chapter.**

h t t p : / s1222 . photobucket . com / albums / dd483 / Hoodd / ? action =  
view & current = Alone . jpg

**Chapter 19:**

He had his back to her, sitting cross-legged on his cell's cot. He hadn't spoken since she came, hadn't even looked at her, acknowledged her presence.

So it was going to be one of those days. And she would stay for the hour anyway.

He would do this. Go quiet. At first she thought he was attempting to ignore her.

But she quickly came to realize that wasn't it at all.

He was disappearing, in to his own mind, escaping in to it, and she could see at those times he wasn't aware of the world around him, aware of reality outside his head.

Twenty minutes in, and he'd begun to hum to himself, and it was immediately she felt her heart seize up, a sickening rush dropping down through her stomach.

His voice.

Oh God, his beautiful voice…

She'd almost forgotten what he sounded like when he sang, high and pure and so incredibly sweet.

She recognized the melody, she recognized it instantly.

Her song.

The one he sung for her.

_His arms were wrapped round her waist, and she leaned back against his chest, her legs curled beneath her as she sat on his lap, the two of them on their living room couch. _

_He had his chin rested gently on her shoulder, and she could feel his breath, soft against her neck, steady and even. _

_Around them was quiet._

_He'd gotten back from the deli an hour ago, the sun still yet to rise, and she'd been awake when he returned, unable to sleep. She worried for him, being out there at night, always afraid something would happen, someone would hurt him. _

_So she'd waited up, relief and happiness washing through her when he came through their apartment door._

_And without a word spoken, he'd come to her._

_He'd asked if she was alright, wondering why she was awake so early, and she'd told him she was fine, that she just hadn't been able to sleep. And he'd taken her in his arms then, sat with her on the couch, told her to just relax. _

_Leaned against him now, she was able to, knowing he was safe. It made her feel safe too. _

_He rocked her just barely, whispering against her ear…_

"_Would you like me to sing to you?"_

_And she nodded, a small smile forming on her lips in anticipation._

_So he did, his voice soft, but incredibly clear. Her favorite song._

"_Smillle… though your heart is aching… smillle… even though it's breaking… wheeen… there are cloudssss… in the skyyyy… you'll get byyyy… If you smillle… through your fears and sorrows… smillle… and maybe tomorrowww… you'll seee… the light come shining throughhh… for youuu…"_

_The tears came fast to her eyes. _

_His voice, _God_, his voice... If ever there was a voice to match a person's soul, she was sure his was it. Beautiful and pure and full of love. _

_If the world only knew what an amazing man she had here, if they only realized… _

_She began to turn in his arms, wanting to see his face._

_And his voice trailed off as he let her._

"_Don't stop." She said, pushing her fingers through his hair, smiling down at him as she sat up on her knees._

_He smiled back._

"_Liiight up your face with gladness… Hiiide every trace of sadness… Wheeen there are clouuuds… in the skyyy… you'll get byyy..." He sang louder, and her smile grew. "If you smillle… through your fears and sorrows… smillle… and maybe tomorrowww… you'll find… that life… is still worthwhile… if youuu… juuust… smillllle…"_

_And she leaned down, kissing him hard._

_His arms wrapped tighter around her waist, the kiss deepening, both their mouths opening to allow the other entry, tongues gliding over and against each other. _

_Jeannie moaned softly against his lips, her hands smoothing down the back of Jack's head, to his shoulders, before running around to his chest, dipping beneath the jacket he still wore, pushing it from him._

_And his hands ran up her back, pushing her down closer to him._

_She responded by pulling back, quickly moving her mouth to his ear, kissing gently along the lobe, eliciting an audible sigh from him._

_She smiled. _

_Jack's ears in a way were his weak spot. He always fell in to a kind of trance whenever she kissed him there, and she would do it often, as a way to relax him, to help him let go, since at times he would find it difficult, his insecurity getting the best of him. _

_He was so quiet whenever they made love, barely making a sound at all, not because he wasn't enjoying it, but because, Jeannie suspected, he felt mildly ashamed to, no doubt a feeling instilled in him by his father. Like he didn't think it was okay to vocalize his pleasure. _

_Kissing his ears always managed to get something out of him though, a gasp or a soft moan._

_She wanted him to know it was alright._

_Slowly she ran the tip of her tongue over his ears rim, her hands gliding lower, resting at the waist of his pants, and again he sighed quietly, his own hands coming up to her shoulders, down her arms before taking hold of her waist from the front. _

"_Mmm, Jack…let's go to the bedroom." She whispered in to his ear, pulling back then to look at his face._

_And he nodded._

"_Okay." _

_He pulled his arms the rest of the way from his jacket, and then, taking firm hold of her waist in his large hands, he stood, lifting her up with him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms coming around his neck._

_Again their lips came together as he began to walk with her towards their room, and when they got there, he lowered her gently on to the bed, watching her scoot back, making room for him before he joined her, crawling on to the mattress._

_For a few moments, they just sat, looking at one another. Admiring. Jack on his knees, his legs folded beneath him, she lying half back, arms supporting her weight. _

_And then she sat up, reaching forward, her fingers beginning to undo the bowtie from around his neck, sliding it from underneath his collar. _

"_Do you want me to unbutton your blouse?" He whispered, and she smiled._

_He never did anything to her without asking if he could, or if she wanted it, even still, after having been in a relationship with her for the last eight years. _

_He was the definition of a gentleman. _

_Considerate almost to a fault. _

_She nodded at him, and he nodded back._

"_Okay." He said._

_Her smiled grew to a grin. She never could get over his sweetness, how simply he sometimes spoke, or even seemed to think, though she knew his mind was anything but. But matters like these, to him, were straight forward._

_If she ever told him no, he would respond the same, nod his head and tell her 'okay'. _

_He never protested against what she wanted, never argued or complained. _

_His hands came forward, beginning slowly to undo the buttons of her shirt, his eyes watching the action, her eyes watching his face. He was concentrating, proceeding with care as he did in every endeavor. _

_Jack never did anything half-heartedly. _

_When he'd undone it completely his eyes rose to hers, and she knew he was waiting for confirmation to push it from her shoulders. _

_She gave a nod, and he went ahead, her shrugging it off the rest of the way, leaving her in her braw. _

_And now it was her turn, her fingers beginning to undo the buttons of his own shirt. Reaching the bottom, she took hold of the cotton material, un-tucking it from his pants and pushing off his shoulders. _

_She didn't wait to take hold of his undershirt, lifting it up, and without needing to be told, he raised his arms above his head, and she pulled it off the rest of the way._

_Her eyes fell over his body. She never got tired of looking at it. _

_Since he'd started working in that shipping yard a year ago, lifting boxes and crates, he'd grown more defined. He'd never had any fat on him to begin with, but now he'd begun to develop his muscles. They weren't big, weren't bulging or anything like that, that just wasn't the kind of build he had, but they were apparent, long and solid. Even the muscles in his stomach had begun to show through, and at first she'd teased him a bit about it._

"_What's this?" She'd said. "I'm married to Arnold Schwarzenegger now!" _

_He'd been embarrassed, looking away self-consciously. _

_But then she'd told him she was only kidding, that he looked amazing. And he'd seemed relieved. _

_She reached forward, placing her hands against his flat chest, smoothing them over, and he exhaled softly._

_He had scars, marks which would never fade completely from times when his father had struck him with more then just his fists. The worst of it being along his back, whip marks, caused by what, she didn't know. He'd never spoken about it to her. _

_She pushed the negative thoughts from her mind, not wanting to dwell on anything so depressing._

_Jack was here with her now, he was safe with her, and that's what mattered._

"_Can I take your braw off, or do you want to do it?" He asked._

"_You can go ahead baby." She answered._

_Jeannie realized some women might find it annoying, or frustrating, him constantly asking for permission. But that would only be because they didn't understand Jack, didn't understand who he was, of from where he was coming. _

_She did, and she found this aspect of him endearing._

_He reached around behind her, fumbling a moment with her braw strap before finally getting it, unclasping it and pulling the garment from her._

_Jack would look at her body, as she looked at his, but whenever he did, she could see in his eyes it wasn't ever with any kind of perversion, any kind of greed or piggishness, as she'd seen in some of the boys she'd been with before him. He wasn't thinking about what he'd like to do to her. _

_No, she could see he was looking at her body in admiration, marveling at her._

_Jack had never been with anyone _but_ her, she knew that, and by her own self-assertion, she wouldn't say her body was anything special. _

_Her breasts were small. She had a nice, small waist, a decent butt. But she wouldn't call herself Sophia Loren. _

_But to Jack, she was a Goddess. He would tell her repeatedly how beautiful she was, tell her she had the most gorgeous face he'd ever seen, the most perfect figure. And he wasn't lying. She didn't think Jack even knew _how_ to lie. He really felt that way about her, really meant it._

_To say he made her feel good about herself would have been the great understatement of the century. _

_She hoped her own, admiring words towards him helped him feel the same, though she knew it was an uphill battle. He was starting from such a low place in terms of his self-esteem. _

_She wanted so badly to change that. To make him believe her when she told him how handsome he was, how attractive._

_She reached out, grasping his hand, bringing it up and placing it on her breast, letting him know she wanted him to touch her. _

_And he complied, cupping her other breast as she leaned forward, sitting up slightly on her knees and pressing her lips to his, and he reciprocated._

_Her hands moved down, finding the buckle on his belt, undoing it without having to look, starting to pull it from its loops, taking only a moment to toss it aside before resuming her work, undoing his trouser button, beginning to tug at his zipper._

_She moaned softly in to his mouth as he massaged her, her breath quickening slightly. She was growing eager._

"_Sit back a little honey." She said quietly, breaking off their kiss. _

_He did as she asked, lying back, unfolding his legs from under him, his hands moving back to support himself, she undoing his pants zipper the rest of the way before burying her fingers inside the waistband, pulling them down his narrow hips, and then the rest of the way, to his ankles, where she had to stop to remove his loafer shoes and socks. She threw them to the floor, pulling his trousers off the rest of the way, leaving him in his boxer shorts._

_She could see his chest rising and falling more rapidly, and she knew he too was eager, though he never would rush a thing. He allowed her to dictate the pace, always. _

_She didn't waste much time, crawling forward and pushing her fingers inside the waistband of her undergarments, pulling them down past his hips as she had his pants, all the way off then._

_The first time they'd had sex, she remembered, Jack had been incredibly nervous, and incredibly self-conscious regarding his body._

_He's been afraid of her seeing him naked. Afraid she'd be disgusted by what she saw. _

_And she knew that insecurity too had come from his father. The bastard._

_She'd explained to him calmly not to worry, that she could already tell what his body looked like, even dressed, and ensured him of how she loved it._

_Still, he'd been uncertain, and still she felt a twinge of pain at the memory of how he'd insisted he undress in the bathroom, how he'd come out wrapped in one of her large beach towels, and how when she'd finally convinced him to remove it, he'd stood with his arms wrapped around himself, like he was trying to hide, his eyes cast to the floor, unable at first to look at her._

_It had taken her a long while to get him to relax, to show him it was okay, show him she wasn't going to be repulsed by him, or laugh at him. And finally she'd gotten him to bring his arms away, to come over to her bed._

_He'd asked her at the time if she'd ever done anything like this before, and she'd told him the truth. That she had, but only a few times. She hated lying to Jack, and rarely ever did, mainly because he was always so honest with her. _

_That had made him more nervous, sure then he was going to disappoint her, and that had been another obstacle to overcome, convincing him he wasn't going to, that he was going to do fine. _

_She was happy now that he was comfortable being like this around her. It had taken many times before he finally was, but eventually, he'd realized she wasn't going to run screaming from him, that she wasn't sickened by the sight of him, and then he'd been okay._

_She dropped his boxers to the floor, her hands beginning to undo the zipper of her skirt when he sat back up._

"… _C-can I?" He asked, somewhat nervously, and she stopped, looking up at him and smiling._

"_Of course baby." She said._

_He liked to undress her, she knew, but he was always hesitant to ask if she'd already started herself, not wanting her to feel like he was treating her as an object. But she never did. She knew that wasn't why he wanted to, she knew from the way he handled her. He would hold and touch her as though she were priceless, as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. He was always so remarkably delicate, his hands treating her with the greatest care. When he would undress her, it was like he was unwrapping a precious gift, something he treasured and adored completely. It was like he considered it a privilege to do so._

_He smiled at her then, coming forward, taking hold of her skirts zipper and pulling it down slowly, before gently slipping his fingers in to the waist of the article, tugging it down. She helped him, lifting her hips up so he could pull it the rest of the way off._

_When he had, he reached for her underwear, looking up at her face to make sure it was okay. She nodded at him. And those too he removed._

_And again, they sat for a few moments, looking at one another, before she moved towards him, placing her hands again on his chest, easing him back gently, letting him know she wanted him to lay back._

_He did, and she leaned over him, her knees on either side of his hips. He reached up, running his fingers gently over her chest and she bent down, capturing his lips with hers, him returning the kiss._

_They stayed like that for several seconds before she pulled back, moving her lips to his ear once more, biting down gently on its lobe before trailing down, to his neck, and lower still, to his collar bone. _

_His eyes closed at the sensation, exhaling softly as she kissed her way down, on to his chest. _

_Tonight, she wanted to give Jack as much pleasure as possible. He worked so hard, two, tiring jobs, down at the docks from noon until eight at night, and then at the deli, starting at eleven, going until five, sometimes six in the morning. They had such little time together it seemed, and he was always so completely exhausted. Even still, he rarely slept more then 2 or 3 hours at a time, often waking around the same time as she, despite having gotten to bed so late. They would have a few hours then before he had to leave for work. And then the few hours between jobs. But that was it._

_She hated to think of it, to think of him toiling away, doing such menial tasks when she knew how brilliant he was. How talented._

_She wanted to make it up to him by giving him this. By doing the work now._

_She ran her tongue over his nipple, and felt him suck in, holding it a moment, letting it go with a shuttering breath as she bit down gently, staying there a few seconds more before kissing her way to his other nipple, doing the same._

_And then she made her way further down, to his stomach, gliding her tongue across his naval before kissing it._

_His hands had fallen away from her by then, resting at his side, his breath growing more rapid, biting down on his lip slightly._

_And without any kind of real warning, she reached down, taking hold of him in her hand, running her thumb over his tip, coaxing a tiny gasp from his throat and an inadvertent rise of is hips._

_She smiled, continuing to massage his head as her other hand came down, resting on the inside of his thigh. _

"_Is that okay sweetheart?" She asked, looking up at him, and he nodded weakly, saying nothing, his eyes still closed._

_So she continued, her hand wrapping fully around him, moving down his entire length, to his base, then back up, and again down._

_He swallowed thickly, his fingers burying in the bed's sheets. _

_A low groan escaped his throat when her other hand moved to his scrotum, and then back, rubbing with soft pressure as she again began to run her thumb over his tip._

_A familiar warmth started to spread in the pit of his stomach, radiating downwards, and again, he groaned, his own hand coming up, biting down on his knuckle. _

_She'd started to apply more pressure with her hands then, and he exhaled sharply. _

"_J… Jeannie…" He breathed shakily, and she looked up at him. He swallowed, his eyes opening. "C… c-can we…" _

_And she knew what he meant without him having to finish. _

_He wasn't completely comfortable with asking for things directly, she knew, but she'd learned to read the signs from him over the years, and so he didn't have to._

_The truth was, Jack didn't even want anything beyond the most normal kind of sex, he didn't have any kind of fetishes, any kind of strange requests. Even things most men desired, he had no real interest in._

_He enjoyed it when she touched him, enjoyed hand jobs, like she was doing now. But she'd asked him once if he would like for her to give him a blow job, and he'd looked at her wide eyed._

"_Y-you mean… using your… your m-mouth?" He'd asked._

_She'd laughed, nodding._

_And he'd responded immediately by shaking his head no._

_He didn't want it, and when she'd asked why, he said he didn't feel like it was something that was fair._

_Jack was unusual in that way, one of many ways in which he was. _

_More then anything, he enjoyed the intimacy of actual intercourse, of them sharing it together. That's what he always, really wanted whenever they engaged in any kind of sexual activity. He wanted to share it with her. _

_To know she was getting from it as much as he was._

"_Are you ready?" She asked, and he nodded._

_And so she moved back up, he sitting up slightly to meet her, the two of them again kissing, his hands moving to her shoulders, smoothing down her arms, holding gently below her elbows._

_After a few moments, she pulled away, he fell back._

_And she rose up on her knees, lowering herself slowly on to him, the both of them exhaling quietly._

_And they moved together easily then, smoothly, following each other in to rapture._

_/_

_They lay together, side by side, the sun filtering slowly in to the room, casting a surreal kind of haze about the place, his fingers twined with her own, his other hand coming up, smoothing her hair back from her face, behind her ear, silent as they watched each other, quietly content in each others presence. _

"_You should try and get some sleep." She finally said softly._

"_Mmm. So should you." He replied._

_And she smiled._

"_True." She said. "How about we both try and get some sleep?"_

_He nodded, and she reached up, running her own fingers through his hair._

_He leaned forward, pressing his lips against her forehead, kissing her._

"_I love you Jeannie." He whispered, and she smiled._

"_I love you too Jack."_

"Jack…?"

He'd shifted, leaned down, his hands coming up to his ears, pressing down on them, like he was trying to block some sort of noise out.

He still hadn't turned around, continuing to hum to himself.

She tried again.

"Jack…?"

And she wondered where he was, if maybe he was remembering; remembering like she'd been doing.

"Jack?"

Suddenly he sat straight, his body going rigid.

And he turned, looking over his shoulder, glancing at her, blinking. And she could see confusion in his eyes.

He turned fully round, quickly, pushing back slightly on his cot.

"When did you get here?" He asked, sounding suspicious, angry.

Her eyes looked down to her watch.

"About 30 minutes ago." She said.

And his lip twitched in agitation.

She could tell he hadn't known what just happened.

Made more clear when abruptly he stood, moving across the cell, reaching its end before turning and walking back the same way.

"You don't just… show up here un_announced_!" He hissed quietly.

She watched him move with her eyes.

"I'm sorry." She said. "Today's Tuesday, a visiting day… I've come every time before and you always seemed to be alright with i…"

"You should _announce_ yourself!" He cut her short, stopping briefly in front of her, staring hard. "I wasn't… I didn't… didn't remember what day it was…" He muttered, shaking his head, beginning again to pace.

And he continued to mutter, unintelligibly now, too quietly for her to hear.

She watched him with concern.

God, he was so _confused_.

It pained her to think of how many days he'd suffered like this, how many _years_. Trapped in a state of constant confusion, in a state of chaos. Days he didn't know where he was, _who_ he was. Whole blocks of memory lost on him, forgetting the day, the time, the present.

"Jack, what was that?" She asked.

He'd never snapped out of these weird trances in her presence before.

He halted, glaring at her a long moment before again starting, saying nothing.

She sighed.

"Do you not remember?"

"Remember _what_?" He snapped agitatedly.

"You were sitting on the cot, humming to yourself. You didn't seem to know I was here."

He waved a dismissive hand.

"I don't know what it is you're talking about." He said, continuing to walk back and forth, more quickly now.

"Jack, were you remembering something? Something about your past?" She pushed, ignoring his attempts to brush her off.

He'd moved to the back wall now, turned away from her.

"I remember too much now…" He whispered, too quietly for her to catch.

"I'm sorry?" She questioned.

And his head shook, his hands coming up, pressing against the cold concrete, his forehead resting against it too.

"It was easier before… it was easier when I couldn't remember…" He mumbled, his voice still too quiet for her to hear.

"You were singing to yourself." Jeannie said. "Humming…"

And she watched as his fingers curled inward, in to his palms, his back still to her, his head still rested forward.

"It was a song you used to… used to always sing to me." She went on quietly. "Do you remember? You had… h-_have_ such a beautiful voice. You would sing to me when I couldn't sleep, or when we… when we would dance…"

She paused, watching, waiting to see if he would acknowledge what she was saying in any way, show any kind of recognition.

But he didn't move.

"My favorite song was… it was the one you were just… just singing to yourself…"

"Smile…" He whispered.

And she felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Th… that's right." She said. "You… you remember?"

For several seconds, he didn't move, didn't say anything.

And then he pushed himself from the wall, moving fast back to his cot, leaning over on to it with his hands.

"Jack…?"

He shook his head violently.

"No!" He spit. "I don't… that isn't my name. Stop… stop _calling_ me that."

"I won't." She said determinedly. "It _is_ your name. I know you remember it now. You can't keep running away from this Jack. I know it's painful, but…"

"You don't know the meaning the _pain_." He shot quietly, still not looking at her.

And she felt an actual shot of anger.

"That's _bullshit_ Jack." She said sternly. "You think… you think it was _easy_? Watching you _struggle_ all those years? Having to watch you get _hurt_, having to see how people would _treat_ you… just because… because you weren't like _them_! Or what about all those times you wound up beat to a pulp because you didn't know how to just _walk away_ Jack! Because you had to defend my _honor_! What about those times? I was so God damned _scared _Jack! Every time, I thought you were going to get yourself _killed_! Having to constantly explain to people you weren't _trying_ to be rude, that you didn't mean anything by it when you said something embarrassing to them, having to save you from getting beat up by them! How do you think that felt Jack? Knowing I couldn't always be there to save you! Constantly worrying when you were out there, on your own, knowing you didn't really know how to protect yourself, knowing you weren't _equipped_. It was painful for me _too_ Jack! It fucking _hurt_ to see you in so much pain! … Knowing…" She had to pause, feeling her throat constrict, tears stinging at the back of her eyes. She looked down. "Knowing someone you love wasn't… wasn't going to be okay…" Her voice wavered on the last word, her eyes closing, trying to push back her tears. "It hurt…"

He'd turned towards her now, staring at her, watching her trying not to cry.

"… Why do you care?" He asked. And she looked up at him. "You shouldn't care about me."

A tear escaped from the corner of her eye and she quickly swiped it away.

"Why not?"

"_Because_…" he hissed, moving from the cot, beginning across the cell again, reaching its end quickly.

She swallowed.

"Why Jack? Why shouldn't I care about you?"

"Because… I'm dangerous…" He said, nearly inaudibly.

Silence fell between them, she looking intently at him, he refusing to look at her.

And there was something different in what he said now.

He'd threatened her before, many times, threatened to hurt her, to kill her… But she'd been able to tell then it was purely bluff, him attempting to scare her off. This was different… she could tell from the inflection in his voice. She could hear sincerity in it… she could hear resignation… and regret.

She blinked, breathing out.

But she wouldn't be deterred.

"Well I've always been in to bad boys…" She answered, her half-hearted attempt at a not very funny joke.

And he looked at her, his pale eyes looking as if he was trying to discern her seriousness.

"Hmm." He smirked after a moment.

She allowed herself a small smile, scarcely able to believe she'd managed to make him.

After a moment she cleared her throat, looking down.

"I brought you something." She said. "I thought you might like to see."

She slid open the small window off to her left, pushing a folder through it, sliding it back shut.

He glanced at it.

"What is it?" He asked suspiciously.

"It's some of your drawings." She answered, looking at him.

And for some seconds, he didn't move, continuing to stare at the folder, before finally he started, stepping towards it.

She watched him as he reached out, touching his finger tips to it, running them along the folders surface before quickly taking it up.

Several seconds more would pass before he at last opened it. When he did, he went still, staring at the first drawing, intent.

"That's a portrait you did of me…" She said, knowing the top drawing. "You used to draw me more then anything else…"

And the Joker knew she was telling the truth. He recognized his own style instantly.

He picked the drawing up, turning it over to look at the next.

"That's Robinson Park." She said, also knowing the second picture. "I remember when you did that one. We were sitting on a bench together, and you had your notebook that you always used to draw in. You drew the scene in fronts of us…" She paused, watching him. "I was always so amazed at your ability. You'd never taken any art classes or anything. But you always used to do that, just draw what was around you, whatever it was. You were fascinated by everything. You thought everything was… was beautiful, in its own way…"

His eyes flicked up to her, his mouth pulled in to a slight frown.

He thought maybe she was trying to make him feel guilty, or some such nonsense, but looking at her, he could see she meant what she said, that there was nothing more beyond the statement then the statement itself. No agenda.

And for whatever reason, he realized, he was more upset at that then if she'd been _trying _to make him feel bad.

His eyes dropped back to the pictures, rifling through them, assuming an expression of disinterest, concealing behind it a growing unease.

The drawings largely seemed random, portraits of people he didn't recognize, buildings and landscapes, of the city he knew intimately well.

Turning over another, and he came upon the final drawing in the folder, a picture of a man.

There was a strange familiarity to the man's face, and it occurred to him, as he continued to study it, the familiarity was with his own visage, though it wasn't an exact likeness. The man in the picture was perhaps harder looking, his jaw wider, a more pronounced brow ridge.

From the man's eyes radiated hatred.

And the moment he saw it, he heard her speak.

"It's your father."

His eyes snapped up to her.

"It's the only picture of him you ever drew… as far as I know anyway."

He stared at her hard, and without even realizing it, his grip on the folder had tightened.

"I found it by accident. Do you remember? I'd been cleaning the apartment, and I knocked your notebook over. That fell out of it when I did. I picked it up and you tried to take it from my hands, to cover it up before I saw…"

_He moved towards her, his hand outreached, a kind of panic running through him._

_And he prayed she wouldn't see._

_But she turned from him then, her eyes scanning over the drawing, and his arm fell, his gaze immediately falling to the floor._

_For a few seconds more, she studied the picture, and then she looked up at him._

"_This is your father Jack?"_

_He said nothing, his head turning away, and she could see instantly he was afraid. _

_She didn't even know why she'd felt the need to ask him. It was very obviously his father. _

_But she'd never seen him draw a picture of the man before, and she didn't think she ever would. _

_His Dad, after all, didn't deserve to have his portrait drawn, most especially by his son._

_Jack drew things he thought were beautiful._

_There was nothing beautiful about his father._

"_When did you do this?" She asked._

_Still he cast his eyes away, staying silent. _

"_Jack…?"_

"_A… a w-week ago." He finally answered, quietly. _

_She nodded, looking back to the drawing. He'd captured his father accurately, captured the absolute _meanness_ of the man's face._

_She looked back up at him._

"_Why'd you draw this Jack?" She asked pointedly, not understanding why._

_It worried her, for whatever reason. She thought maybe she feared him dwelling on his father, being unable to break away from the bastard, from what he'd done to him. _

_She wished she could erase Jack's Dad from his mind, erase the trauma she knew he'd caused him. _

_But then, she knew if she could do that, she would solve a great _many_ of Jack's problems. _

_But things didn't work that way._

_Things were never that simple._

_For several seconds, Jack said nothing, still unable to look at her._

_She could tell he was worried, that he wasn't saying anything because he was afraid of her reaction._

"_Jack…" she started. "It's okay hun. You can tell me."_

"… _Are you mad at me?" He asked, his voice just barely above a whisper._

_And her face crumpled. _

_God, she hadn't meant to give him that impression._

"No_ Jack. No baby. I'm not mad." She reassured. "I'm just… a little confused is all. You've never… I've never seen you draw your father…"_

_And she watched him exhale nervously, his eyes still casting down. _

_When he still didn't answer, she tried again._

"_You think maybe you can tell me why baby?" She made sure to make her voice more gentle this time._

_He swallowed._

"… _I thought, maybe…" he began quietly, hesitantly. _

"_Go on Jack. It's alright. I'm not going to be mad at you."_

"_I thought maybe I… I c-could send it… s-send it to him…" He finally managed, his voice growing even softer. _

_And Jeannie couldn't help her own eyes going slightly wide at this._

"_Oh no, Jack… Jack, baby, that's not a good idea sweetheart." She said. "Why would you… why would you want to do that?"_

_Jack's head bowed lower, and he looked ashamed now, embarrassed. _

"_I thought…" he began. "I thought maybe… m-maybe, i-if… if I…if I g-gave him so-something… something nice, he might… h-he might not be so… s-so m-mean to me… any… a-anymore…"_

_Her heart shattered instantly._

_Oh, Jesus…_

_She felt sick._

_He _wanted_ his father to love him. He wanted it so badly._

_And his innocence made him believe that his father _could_, made him believe his father was _capable_ of love, despite the way the son of a bitch had tortured him all his life. _

_And it killed her to see the way he thought such a simple, thoughtful gesture could make it so, to see him think, if he could just do something different, he might win his father's love._

_He didn't understand it would never matter _what_ he did. His father was a rotten person, incapable of any kind of compassion. _

_She hated so much to see Jack blame his father's treatment towards him on himself, to see him think he had to do anything at all to deserve kindness from the man._

_No child should ever be made to feel they have to earn their parents love. _

"_Oh Jack…" She said, going to him. She reached out, placing her palm against his cheek, turning his face towards her. "Honey, it won't make any difference. It won't change anything. The way your father treats you has got nothing to _do_ with you baby. It's all him, his own insecurity, his own selfishness."_

_He looked at her with desperation._

"_But I thought, maybe if he saw…" He trailed off when he saw her shaking her head. _

"_He's a bad man Jack. And a dangerous man. It isn't safe to send him anything sweetie, to have any sort of contact with him."_

_The absolute, crushing disappointment in his eyes nearly made her regret having said it. _

_He was so _pained _by this._

_But she'd had to tell him; for his own safety, she'd had to be honest._

"_Come here." She said, pulling him in to a hug, wrapping her arms around him tight. _

_He hugged her back, burying his face against her shoulder._

_And her heart broke that much more when she felt him shutter against her, and she realized after a moment… he was crying._

He shut the folder, moving towards the window.

"Take it." He said.

She blinked.

"You can keep it Jack. It's alri…"

"I don't _want_ it." He snapped harshly, and she flinched.

God, he could sound so mean sometimes.

There'd never been any point before, any time when he'd sounded like that.

He'd always been so gentle, so kind…

"I… I thought you…" She again started.

"It doesn't matter what you thought." The Joker again interrupted. "Even if I did want them, they would be confiscated by days end."

Her expression grew confused.

"Do you _see _anything along my walls? Any items lying about?" He said condescendingly, exasperated. "I'm allowed no objects."

"But… they're just drawings. They'd have no reason to take them from you."

He laughed, the sound sharp and bitter.

"Oh, my _dear _girl… you have _so_ much to learn." He said. "_Reason_ has very little to do with anything that goes on here. They take them because they _can_."

And her face grew concerned.

"But… but _why_? I don't understand."

"Power, _Jeannie_…" He said lowly.

And she didn't know why, but the way he said her name frightened her.

"Whatever gives them a sense of _control_." He eyed her intently then, stepping closer to the glass. "Take them." Again he held the folder out.

And she looked back at him only a moment more before sliding the small window open, waiting for him to push the folder through.

He began to, her hand coming up to take it, and like lightening, before she could even begin to realize what was happening, his own hand had shot through the opening, latching to her wrist and holding her fast.

She gasped sharply, instinctually trying to pull away as consuming fear took her, but his grip only tightened, painfully now and he glared at her with hard eyes.

The folder had fallen to the floor, its contents spilling out.

"Do you know what I am?" He hissed, his voice soft.

She stared at him wide eyed, her mouth hung open, unable to speak. She felt suddenly numb with terror as it dawned on her with the passing seconds her position. She might scream, if her voice hadn't so suddenly left her.

"Do you know what. I. _am_?" He asked again more sharply, his teeth grinding together as her jerked her forward, and she cried out with the pain which now traveled up her arm.

But still she could say nothing, his own gaze never leaving her face.

"P-pa-please…" She managed after a moment. "Y-you're h-hurting me."

And his jaw tightened, his eyes seeming to harden further.

"I could so easily… snap your wrist." He said quietly, almost soothingly.

His thumb folded out, dragging softly over her skin.

She was trembling now, feeling nauseous.

She never would have thought contact from him would make her feel this way.

"Please…" She whispered. "P-please, Jack… let me go, please let me go…"

His hand tightened, nearly threatening to break the bone. She choked out.

"Jack, please, you're… y-you're _hurting_ me!"

And suddenly she could feel the tremors running up through her intensify, and she realized, a moment following, they were coming from him. That he was shaking too, more violently even then herself.

A second more, and his grip suddenly released, his hand pulling back inside his cell, and he stumbled backwards, away from her, his face a mask of confusion and rage.

Reflexively she stepped back too, her hand coming up immediately to massage her already sore wrist as she continued to stare at him with wide and horrified eyes.

And he stared back, for a long moment still, doing nothing, saying nothing.

And then suddenly his hands came up, gripping to the sides of his head, his face twisting in to a grimace.

He turned from her, moving to the cells far end, where he stood like that, holding his head, silent.

She watched him, swallowing hard, her heart still pounding thunderously in her chest.

Jesus Christ, what the hell _was _that?

Hesitantly, she stepped forward, reaching out, sliding the window shut before bending down, gathering up the fallen artwork.

When she again stood, he still hadn't moved, and once more she swallowed, trying to wet her dried throat.

"J-Jack…?" She started, almost inaudibly.

He didn't move.

She tried again.

"Jack?"

"Do you not see…?" He whispered suddenly, remaining as he was.

She looked back at him in bemusement.

"What?"

His head shook.

"Do you not see what I am?"

She frowned, her hands gripping tightly to the folder now.

"You're… you're a man Jack." She said. "You're a man who needs help."

Abruptly, violently, he turned, his eyes ablaze.

"I am a _monster_!" He hissed angrily. "_Why _can you not see this? As everyone else can? You want so badly to _save _me, so badly that you've never thought for a moment how there isn't anything _left _to save!"

The tears stung at the back of her eyes, and her head shook.

"No. No Jack, that isn't true. That isn't true. You just need help. You just need someone… someone who _cares_ enough to help you."

He stared back at her incredulously a moment before suddenly turning again, laying his head and hands against the cool concrete wall.

His head shook.

"I wanted to hurt you…" He mumbled quietly. "I wanted to break your wrist. I was going to…"

She exhaled shakily, watching him.

"…But you didn't." She at last said. "You didn't Jack."

Still he didn't move, his eyes closing.

"Jack…?"

"Go." He said.

She blinked.

"Jack, I…"

"_Please_, just… go."

And he sounded desperate, his voice wavering.

A few moments more she stood there, staring as he continued to put his back to her.

Finally she looked down, tears escaping down her cheeks.

She nodded.

"Okay." She whispered. "Okay Jack."

A minute past. Then two.

Silence.

He turned back around, and she was gone.

He stared at the empty space a moment, doing nothing, saying nothing.

And then he stepped back, falling against the wall. And he slid down, until he was sitting on the floor, his hands again coming to his head, holding to it tight as he held it between his knees, his eyes closing, trying desperately to escape his own, crushing loneliness.

… But he couldn't.

It held him, pinned him down like he was nothing, crushed and devoured and suffocated him.

And now he felt he couldn't breathe.

He would always be this way.

And there wasn't anything anyone could do to change that.

He would always be alone.

/

**Don't forget to leave reviews guys and thanks for reading and to everyone who reviewed last chapter!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Once more, thanks goes to my beta TheMadCapLaughs for helping me with this chapter! Hope you guys enjoy! Reviews are appreciated, so if you get a chance, tell me what you think. **

**Chapter 20:**

_Joe looked at the clock on his desk, noting the time. Half past ten. He'd stayed a little later then usual, balancing his check books and working the deli's budget. _

_When Jack had arrived for his shift, he'd been startled to find his employer still there, seeming almost _distraught_ at the change in routine, like he wasn't sure what to do._

_Joe had had to explain to him calmly the reason for his being there; that it was okay, that it didn't change anything._

_Jack had nodded, staying quiet, his eyes fixed on the floor. He'd appeared greatly relieved when Joe had said he'd let him get to work._

_He stretched back in his seat, yawning. He should be heading off for home now._

_He could hear Jack, working in the kitchen, washing dishes from the sounds of it._

_He shook his head._

"Poor kid_." he thought._

_He felt bad for Jack. _

_When he'd first come to him, looking for work, he'd been able to see right away the kid was unlikely to work well alongside his other employees._

_He'd asked Jack what his previous experience was, and he remembered the young man saying he'd had no experience of restaurants or cafes, but that he was a hard worker, and that he'd be willing to take anything._

_Joe had detected the desperation in his face, saw that he'd likely been turned down at a bunch of other places. _

_And he could see why. _

_Jack was … awkward, to say the least. _

_He talked kind of funny; real quiet and soft spoken. Shy. _Real _shy. Never looked you in the eye. At first Joe had thought he was being smart. But after talking with him a bit, he realized that wasn't it at all, that it was just really hard for the kid. Communication didn't come naturally to him at all._

_Joe couldn't help thinking of how difficult his whole life must have been, going around like that, hampered by his lack of confidence. He thought that growing up, Jack must have been treated pretty shitty for him to turn out the way he was. Must have had a real hard time with other kids too. _

_So he'd decided to give him a shot. If it didn't work out, no big deal. _

_It was just the nightshift, working cleanup. And that way he wouldn't have to worry about Jack getting in to trouble with the other guys. _

_As it turned out, he didn't have to worry at _all_._

_Jack had been telling to truth when he'd told him he was a hard worker. Every morning, when Joe would come back to the restaurant, the place would be practically spotless._

_And the more he got to know Jack, the more he liked him. _

_The fact was, he was just about the sweetest person Joe had ever met. On top of which, he could see the kid was incredibly smart, but somehow incredibly trusting too. _

_Joe had lied to him once. It was a white lie, no biggie, telling him he needed him to skip his shift for a night due to them working on renovations for the place. The truth was, he and a bunch of his buddies were using the deli to throw a bachelor party. In retrospect, he wasn't even sure _why _he'd lied to Jack. He guessed because he didn't want the kid getting caught up with his friends, bunch of roughens that they were. They wouldn't have understood him, and probably wouldn't have been too nice to him. _

_But he'd felt horrible afterwards, because Jack had bought the lie; _really_ bought it. He'd expected the kid to see he wasn't telling the truth, but not care enough to question it. Construction crews, after all, didn't usually work at night. Especially not on something like this. And Jack would see that no changes had been made to the place when he arrived for his shift the following evening. It had been a lazy lie, something Joe had come up with on the spot. But Jack had believed him, and actually shown excitement for him, congratulating him on it, asking him what he was getting improved, as though he truly cared._

_And Joe had told another lie to get out of it, saying it was just maintenance of a bunch of piping. _

_The thing was, Jack took people at face value. Whatever you told the kid, that's what he was going to believe. As though he couldn't conceive of someone ever being deceitful. Like he didn't even know what that was. _

_Joe hadn't lied to him since, and didn't plan on doing so again._

_Someone like Jack, someone who had so much trust in them, who had so much faith in people and the world, they didn't deserve to be lied to like that, to be misled. _

_Someone like that should have their faith rewarded, Joe thought, not used against them. _

_Why anyone would ever be mean to this kid, he couldn't understand. But he could see it, plain as day. People had been _real_ mean to him. Cruel, probably. _

_But that's what you got in this world, when you were too nice for your own good. _

_People just used and abused you. _

_He stood from his seat, stretching out more, cracking his back. _

_Quickly he gathered together his books, opening his desk drawer and placing them inside, closing and locking it._

_Grabbing up his keys, he headed out of his office and into the kitchen, where he saw Jack standing at the sink, a pot in his hands._

_He seemed consumed in the task of washing it, not noticing as Joe approached. _

"_Hey Jack!" he said, brightly._

_And Jack visibly flinched, almost dropping the pot. _

_Joe frowned. _

"_Hey, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you."_

"_I-it's okay Mr. Kawalski," Jack replied quietly, turning half towards the man, keeping his eyes on the floor. _

_Joe's mouth twisted to the side._

_God, he really felt bad for this kid. _

"_I just finished up and was getting ready to head out here." Joe smiled at him again._

"_Okay Mr. Kawalski."_

_Joe shifted, looking down at the keys in his hands, jiggling them. _

"… _Is there anything you need before I go?" _

"_I'm alright Mr. Kawalski." Jack said. "Thank you."_

_Joe sighed. _

_He didn't know why he felt like he should say something else. But he did._

"… _Well alright. I'm gonna go then." _

_Jack nodded. _

"_Okay Mr. Kawalski." _

_For a few, long moments, Joe just stood there, looking at him._

_He felt bad, for some reason, just leaving him here by himself._

_Jack seemed so lonely to him._

_But he really had to get back home to his wife…_

"_Alright then." _

_He waved at Jack, then made his way towards the back exit.. _

_He heard Jack resuming his work, picking the pot back up, scrubbing at it with a sponge. Halting, he looked back over his shoulder at the young man. He was standing there, head bowed, scrubbing away at the pot. The feeling that he should say something to … no, _for_ the kid returned. Maybe try to help him in some way._

_He sighed. He supposed it wouldn't hurt anything to stay a little while longer. _

"_Jack?" He called, turning back around._

_And Jack stopped, looking up._

"_Yes Mr. Kawalski?" He asked, his expression confused. _

"_Come here a second." Joe motioned him over. _

_Jack just stared at him. _

"_Come on," Joe repeated. "Let's go sit at one of the tables, so I can talk to you a minute." _

_The look of concern on Jack's face didn't escape him._

"_Did… did I do something wrong Mr. Kawalski?" _

"_No, Jack!" Joe shook his head. "No. You didn't do anything wrong. I just want to talk to you for a minute."_

_Jack stared back at him a few, long seconds, seeming hesitant, before looking back down at the pot in his hands. _

"_I… I still have a lot of work left…" _

"_It's okay Jack." Joe reassured. _

_Jack continued to keep his eyes on the pot, not moving. _

"_Hey, Jack. It's _okay_ son." Joe repeated when he saw his reservation. "Don't worry if you don't get everything done tonight. I'm your boss, remember? So if I say it's alright, it's alright."_

_Jack still didn't look up, but gave a nod. _

_Joe smiled. _

"_So come on over here…" He motioned with his hand. "We'll sit at one of the tables and talk. Just for a few minutes." _

_For a long moment, Jack still wouldn't move, still staring down, and Joe watched him, waiting. _

_He was relieved when, finally, Jack gave a nod, placing the pot down, wiping his hands on a dish towel and started towards him. _

_Joe turned, moving in to the main part of the deli, and he could hear Jack following behind. _

_He walked to one of the tables situated in a corner, opposite the front entrance, and turned around. _

_Jack was standing a few feet back, his hands folded behind his back, looking uncertain. _

"_Have a seat." Joe smiled again, trying to seem friendly, holding a hand out to one of the chairs. _

_Jack again nodded, doing as he was told and sitting. Joe watched him a moment, noticing how he kept his eyes down, trained on the table, folding his hands in his lap. _

_He breathed in, letting it go slowly before taking the opposite chair. _

_For a moment, he regarded Jack, thinking how vulnerable he seemed, like a little kid. His mouth pulled in to a frown at the thought. _

"_So Jack…" He began, absently running his hands over the table. "… How are you doing?" _

_Jack glanced up at him, his expression confused. _

"_Doing… Sir?"_

_Joe nodded. _

"_Yeah, I mean how're things going for you? In your life?" _

"_Oh…" Jack said, looking back down. "They're okay." _

_The kid sounded unconvincing._

"_Just okay, huh kid?" Joe said, leaning forward slightly. _

_Jack nodded. _

"_I'm alright." _

_For a moment, Joe said nothing, his mouth twisting in concern. He could see it was going to be difficult getting him to open up._

"_You like working _here?_" Joe asked. _

_Jack nodded again, giving a small shrug. _

"_It's alright," he answered. _

"_Pays the bills, huh?" Joe laughed. _

"_Some of them." Jack said quietly. _

_Joe breathed in, exhaling loudly. _

_He'd hoped his attempt at humor would help ease the tension, but Jack hadn't seemed to catch the joke. _

_Suddenly he remembered the band he'd seen on the kid's ring finger over the last couple of months. He'd been meaning to ask him about it. In truth, it had surprised him. He'd never thought of Jack as _being_ with anyone, let alone getting married. But that's what he got, he told himself, for making assumptions. And it was after that he also told himself that he'd like to sit down and talk to Jack, just like he was doing now. Get to know him better._

"_I noticed you wearing a ring lately." He said, smiling. _

_At this, Jack glanced up._

"_You got hitched?" _

_And there it was. The in he'd been looking for. _

_Jack smiled, if only faintly. _

"_Yeah." _

_Joe's own smile broadened. _

"_Well I'll bet she's somethin'!" he said, enthusiastically. _

_And Jack nodded. _

"_She's wonderful." _

_Joe couldn't miss the admiration in Jack's voice. Whoever this young lady was, Jack obviously adored her. It made him smile more. _

"_What's her name?" _

_Jack glanced up briefly, then down again. _

"_Jeannie." _

"_Jeannie?" _

_Another nod. _

"_That's a lovely name." Joe said, and again, Jack nodded. _

"_Is she good looking?" _

"_Oh, she's _beautiful_." Jack looked up at him fully for the first time that evening. _

_And now Joe knew for sure that he'd hit on the right button to get him to open up._

"_Ahhh…" He started. "One of them, huh? The kind you can't help lookin' at. I'll bet you catch yourself staring at her all the time, huh?" _

_Jack's eyes immediately flit down, and he nodded. _

"_Yeah?" Joe continued. _

"_Yeah." Jack answered softly, a bashful smile spreading across his face._

_And Joe laughed. _

"_Hey, I know the feelin' kid. The one where, every time you see her, your heart just speeds up in your chest. But in a good way. Not 'cause you're scared, but cause you're so excited."_

_And once more, Jack nodded, still smiling shyly. _

"_So how long you two been married?" _

"_Two… two months and five days." Jack answered, and Joe laughed. _

"_Pretty precise there." he said. "Bet you don't ever forget anniversaries. The ladies love that."_

_Jack said nothing to that, falling silent. _

_Joe frowned, remembering the kid didn't do so good with subtle humor. He was very literal, he was beginning to realize._

"_So, two months and five days, huh?" he said, wanting to keep the conversation going. _

_Jack gave another nod. _

"_But… but we've known each other much longer."_

"_Oh yeah?" _

"_Yeah." Jack said. "Since junior high."_

"_Oh, wow." Joe said. "So is that when you two started dating?"_

_Jack shook his head, looking vaguely embarrassed._

"_We didn't start that until… until high school."_

"_Ohh, high school sweethearts then!" Joe exclaimed._

"_But she's… she's always been my friend." Jack said quickly, suddenly, like he hadn't heard Joe. "She's always been my friend."_

_Joe nodded, noticing how Jack had seemed somehow worried then, as though concerned Joe wouldn't understand what he had meant. _

"_That's great, Jack!" Joe replied, clearly enthused. "It's great you have someone like that. Real friends are hard to come by in this world."_

_Again Jack fell silent, seeming suddenly lost in thought. _

_Joe studied him a moment, and at once he felt his heart sink as he realized he'd struck a nerve. Jack was different from most people, he could see that. Growing up, he'd probably had the hardest time making friends. _

_And from the urgency he'd had when explaining his wife had _always_ been his friend, how important it had seemed to him that Joe should know that about her, how the way he'd said it made her role as a friend seem more important then her role as a lover, it occurred to Joe that Jack had most likely _never_ had a friend outside of her._

_It hurt to think that. To think someone so sweet had never really known kindness from most of the people he'd encountered._

_But the more he thought of it, the more likely it seemed. Jack was the type who'd most probably been met with bullying, more then anything else._

_It made Joe wonder how it was the kid was still so _nice._ How he hadn't become jaded and bitter. _

_And then it occurred to him that the girl he was married to probably had a lot to do with this. Whoever she was, she'd obviously been good to him. _

_And that had obviously been enough._

"_Myself? I've been married near thirty years now." He started again, changing the subject back. _

_Jack glanced at him. _

"_Thirty… thirty years?" _

_Joe nodded. _

"_Yup. Got two kids. Both of em' older then you." He laughed, shaking his head. "It's crazy how times flies. Seems like yesterday they were just little kids. But my youngest just graduated college." _

"… _C-congratulations Sir." Jack said, again looking down, trying to remember what Jeannie had told him to say in these sorts of situations. "You… you must be proud." _

"_Sure am." Joe agreed. "And thank you." _

_Jack nodded, relieved that he'd seemed to have said the right thing. _

"_But what about you Jack? You in college?" _

_Jack breathed in, shaking his head slowly. _

_He hated when this came up. _

_People always assumed he'd be in school, and always seemed shocked when he told them he wasn't, like they thought there was something wrong with him because of it._

_And he never really knew how to explain to them why he wasn't. _

_Joe nodded. _

"_Well that's okay," he said. "College ain't for everyone, ya know?" _

_Jack stayed silent. _

_Joe leaned back, watching him. He didn't want to upset the kid, but he knew lying to him wasn't going to help him either, and he wanted to do that more then anything. _

_He sighed._

"_I'm going to ask you something Jack, and I just want you to know, I'm not trying to offend you and I don't mean this as an insult…" _

_Jack didn't move, didn't respond. _

"_You're _very_ smart Jack. I've been around a long time, seen a lot, met all sorts, and I can see that you're really intelligent, that you've got the kind of brains which could take you high places, if you wanted them to. So my question is - and I don't mean this in any insulting way - what are you doing here? You're too good for this place, Jack, so why are you here?"_

_Jack curled his hands tight in his lap, his head bowing lower as he rested his eyes there. _

"Because I'm a loser,_" he thought, but he didn't say that out loud._

"_Hey, Jack…" _

_He remained as he was._

"_Jack…look at me a second."_

_And his eyes lifted only part way. _

"_You're too good for this place." Joe repeated. _

_Again, Jack's eyes fell back to his lap. _

_His head shook slowly. _

_Joe sighed, seeing he wasn't really getting through to him. _

"_What are you good at?" he asked, hoping it would encourage the young man to open up a little._

_And Jack glanced briefly up. _

"_G-good at?" He sounded confused. _

"_Yeah. You know, what do you do _exceptionally _well?" _

_Jack looked down once more, shrugging. _

"_Oh come on now, _everyone's_ good at something. And smart as I can see you are, I bet you're good at a _lot_ of things."_

_But still Jack was silent. _

_And Joe was silent a moment too, watching him, trying to think how to make him open up again. _

"_Alright…" He started. "What do you _like _to do then? What do you enjoy?" _

_Jack licked his lips, noticing how dry they were, how dry his entire mouth was. He wished he could just get back to work, not understanding why Mr. Kawalski was suddenly so interested in him. _

"_I… I like comedians." He said._

"_Comedians?" _

_Jack nodded. _

"_P-physical comedians. I… I like slapstick."_

_Joe would be lying if he didn't say that surprised him. Jack was so reserved, so quiet, he'd never have guessed he'd be into that sort of thing. But there he was with those assumptions again. In a strange sort of way, it made sense, for someone so shy, so introverted, to admire those who acted so over the top. He was probably fascinated by their ability to let go like they did. _

"_That's great!" Joe said, a little surprised. "You mean like Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton? Guys like that?" _

_Jack nodded. _

"_Is that what you'd like to do too?" Joe asked. "Be a comedian like those guys?" _

_Jack shrugged, looking unsure. _

"_I can't…" he said quietly. _

_Joe frowned. _

"_Says who? You can do anything you want to do, I bet." _

_But Jack only shook his head. _

_Silence fell between them then, Joe feeling at a loss. He didn't know what to say. Jack wasn't giving him anything to go on now. _

_He thought maybe he should just drop it, that he wasn't going to be able to say anything more to help him._

_But then Jack spoke._

"_I'm… I'm good with the engineering of… of chemicals. U-understanding chemical co-composition." _

_Joe's brows shot up, a renewed excitement sparking in him. _

"_Really?" _

_Jack nodded. _

"_You mean like a chemist or something?" _

_Again Jack nodded. _

"_Well that's _great _Jack! See, I knew you had to be good at something!" _

_Jack said nothing to that, still looking down. _

"_That's what you should be doing Jack." Joe continued. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I _love_ having you here. You're probably the best worker I have. But like I said, you're too good for this place. And you could be making a lot more money, I'd bet, working for one of those big corporate companies. Lord knows we've got enough of em' in this city."_

"_I'm not qualified," Jack said. _

_Joe leaned back, regarding him a long moment. _

"_Have you ever thought about college, Jack?"_

"_I don't have the money," he replied quietly, his eyes downcast. "No college fund."_

_Joe nodded. He wondered what kind of parents Jack had. "Ever tried to get a scholarship?"_

"_No," Jack murmured._

"_I know the Wayne Foundation offers scholarships to bright kids who don't have much money. Have you tried them? They might be able to help you…" _

"_No," replied Jack._

_He wondered dismally what had happened to this kid to make him like this. So unsure of himself, so lacking in confidence. _

_And then he realized whatever it was, he probably didn't _want_ to know. _

_Because it could only have been ugly. _

_He bit his lip, shaking his head._

_Maybe that wife of his could help him, make him believe in himself more._

_He glanced at the clock near the door. _

_Eleven. _

_He had to get home now._

_He shifted his eyes back to Jack. _

"_Listen kid, I gotta go. Wife's gonna be mad if I stay too late." He laughed half-heartedly. _

_Jack only nodded._

"_O-okay Mr. Kawalski." He said, his gaze still fixed on his lap. _

_And somehow, Joe felt worse now about leaving him here by himself. _

_He sighed, standing from his seat. _

"_Don't work too hard, alright? I'm sure your lady wants you home too."_

_Another nod._

"_Yes Mr. Kawalski." _

_For a few moments, Joe just stood there, watching him. And then he gave a nod. _

"_I'll see you later." He said, walking past him. He stopped briefly, laying a hand down on Jack's shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Take _care_ of yourself Jack." _

_Jack said nothing._

_And Joe just nodded once more, moving back, towards the deli's exit._

_Leaving Jack alone. _


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21:**

It had been a month. A whole _month _since she'd seen her puddin'. There'd been no news of his having broken out, not since that time before, no news of him even attempting it, and she was beginning to grow worried.

At least if he'd tried, whether he succeeded or not, at least then she would know he was alright. That everything with him was okay.

They kept her away from him, here at Arkham. There were strict rules concerning their interaction, namely, they weren't _allowed_ interaction, at all.

And so she was shocked, to say the least, when the orderlies shoved her through the doors of the asylum rec. room and she saw him, across the space, seated by himself at a table, a secluded corner. His hands were cuffed together, she could see, and she assumed his ankles must also be, probably linked to the legs of the chair he was seated in.

He had his head down, and it looked like from here that he was working on something, though she couldn't tell what.

Her eyes scanned the rest of the room quickly, taking in the other patients, mulling about. No one dared approach him, but they all were watching him, eyeing him intently, and suddenly she felt nervous.

What the hell were they up to? Had it been some kind of mistake?

As far as she knew, Mister J wasn't allowed in this place, or in the cafeteria. As far as she knew, he wasn't allowed interaction with the other inmates at all, period.

Only on occasion had they allowed him out of his cell, when he'd displayed unusually good behavior, therapy sessions and showers not withstanding. It was state ordered, that if a patient hadn't been involved in any incidents of violence or unruly conduct for a period of a month, they had to be rewarded, a means of trying to encourage that good behavior.

But it was rare Mister J ever complied with any of their rules, not unless he was doing so for a specific reason, if it in some way furthered or served some plan of his.

So why was he here? And why had they brought her when he was?

Her mind fought hard to come up with an explanation.

Was it some kind of a trap? Were they trying to set them up somehow?

But that didn't make any sense.

Set them up for _what_?

Her eyes flitted back to him, noting he still sat with his eyes cast towards the table, his hands working away at something she couldn't discern. It didn't look at though he'd yet noticed her.

Her mind raced with the memory of what Batman had said to her, and with what those bastard orderlies had said. And suddenly she felt the incredible urge to go over and confront him, to ask him if it was true. If he… if he was fooling around on her. Seeing that… that _woman_.

She shook her head, barely able to stand the thought of it.

"W-what's he doin' here?" She dared ask the men behind her.

One of them shrugged.

"Clown's been actin' weird." He answered. "Losin' it in his cell, havin' like, panic attacks or somethin', talkin' somethin' about not belonging here. His doc said maybe it was time for him to get some rec. activity. He ain't had any in 'bout six months, not including his little escapes, so… You gotta ask him."

Harley said nothing, her expression growing confused.

Panic attacks?

None of this was making any sense. Mister J was prone to mood swings, sure, and certainly, if he'd been telling people he didn't belong here, that was true also. But why that would prompt them to let him out and around other patients, she couldn't figure.

She glanced behind her then and noticed the orderlies had left her on her own, gone off to sit at the table where they smoked and played cards during the hour.

She looked back nervously to Mister J, her mind frantic with whether she should go over to him or not.

If she did, it was likely they were going to stop her, maybe even take her out of here. But if she didn't, she had no idea when she next would get to see him…

She inhaled deeply, letting it go slow.

Screw it, she thought. What the hell did she have to lose?

And so she began towards him, her stomach clenching in anticipation of the voice, calling out for her to stop.

But it never came, and suddenly she was standing right in front of him, and she could see now what he was working on.

A puzzle. One of a field, and a tree. It was a puzzle she'd tried her hand at many times, one she'd never been able to get very far with, and other patients the same. But she could see he'd already completed more then three quarters of it.

That didn't surprise her. Mister J was good at puzzles. He always finished them so fast. They were something he would do often, when he wasn't making plans or creating some new, chemical concoction, or out fighting the Bat.

She remembered one time when she'd sat down next to him and asked timidly if she could help, and her subsequent shock when he'd nodded and proceeded to sit back and watch as she worked away at it, occasionally helping when she would become stuck, quickly finding and handing her the correct piece.

She remembered too how she'd asked him after why he liked doing puzzles so much and how he'd gotten really angry, slapped her hard across the face before storming off in to the city, disappearing for the rest of the night.

She knew better then to ask him again.

She swallowed.

He didn't seem to notice her, standing there. But she also knew that didn't mean he didn't realize she was. He was always aware when she was. He was just rare to acknowledge it.

She breathed out slowly, gaining her courage.

She was determined to find out the truth. And this was her chance. She needed to hear it from his own lips. She needed to know he wasn't cheating on her.

"Mistah J." She began boldly.

And surprise took her when he flinched noticeably, shrinking back in his seat, almost… almost _curling in_ on himself.

He didn't say anything, didn't look up at her. Just sat there, silent, his hands ceasing their work on the puzzle, his head turning down and to the side.

Harley's brow furrowed as she regarded him.

If she didn't know any better, she'd say he looked almost _afraid_.

"Mistah J, I need to talk to you." She went on when he continued to be silent.

And she watched as he shook his head, his arms wrapping tighter.

"Please… p-please, just… just l-leave me alone." He said, his voice hushed, so quiet she almost didn't hear.

And her brow furrowed further.

Please? She'd never heard Mister J say _please _before. She'd never heard him use that word.

He was playing games with her. Messing around.

But this was _serious_, damn it!

She felt a sudden shot of anger.

"Mistah J, I really need to _talk_ to you!" She snapped, and again he flinched, again shaking his head, curling in further on himself.

She could see his breathing grow quickly rapid, almost erratic, and she thought she could see him trembling, if only slightly.

What the hell was going on? What _was_ this?

She glanced back towards the orderlies, trying to determine if this was some sort of elaborate prank. If she was being played. But they weren't even looking her way, their attention focused on their card game.

She looked back to the Joker, and still he looked away.

"Mistah J, what the heck is going on here?" She asked, and again he shook his head.

"Pl-please… Oh God, please, do-don't… just let me alone. Please, just let me alone."

Something wasn't right here. Something was wrong. He didn't sound like himself. Looking at him, she realized he didn't even really _look_ like himself. His expression was all wrong. And as she studied him closer, it dawned on her suddenly, from where she'd seen that expression before… in that motel bathroom that one night, when he'd broken the mirror and cut himself, before he'd realized she was there.

He'd been talking to himself then. No. He'd been talking to someone… someone who wasn't there. A woman. He'd said her name, hadn't he?

But she couldn't remember.

She wondered if whatever had happened then was happening now.

She leaned forward, placing her hands on to the table, bending down to try and catch his eye.

"Mistah J…" she started. "where are you?"

He shook his head.

"I… I t-told you I d-don't… I don't k-know. Please, God I don't… I don't belong here. W-why… why won't you believe me?"

He sounded desperate to her, his voice quiet and shaking, strained. Almost like… almost like he was on the verge of tears.

"You don't know where you are?" She asked.

"I… I don't know. I don't know." He shook his head. "Please, don't… d-don't take me back yet. I… I'm not lying. I'm not…"

Harley was really starting to feel scared now, her uncertainty growing.

Oh God, what was _wrong_ with him?

"Don't… don't you recognize me Mistah J? Don't you know who I am?" She asked, unable to keep the slight tremor from her voice.

He continued to keep his eyes cast away.

"Mistah J!" She started, feeling herself begin to panic. "Mistah J, look at me! _Please _look at me!"

He didn't move, and she leaned closer to him.

"Puddin', _please_!"

He glanced up, intending only briefly, not knowing who this new tormentor was, confused by the affectionate term.

And he froze, his eyes growing wide, his breath catching in his throat.

He blinked, and blinked again.

"J-Jeannie…?" He breathed, his voice a whisper, filled with confusion.

Jeannie? Where did she recognize that name fr… Wait. Wait. That was it. That was the name of the woman. The one he'd been talking to that night. The one who she'd seen crying! The one who those bastard orderlies had said…

Oh God, no. No. This couldn't be. He couldn't… she couldn't be his… She had to _do _something. Had to fix this. This woman… whoever she was. She was… she was ruining him. She was _hurting_ him! She couldn't let this continue. Couldn't let this continue.

Her mind raced frantically for what to do. For some way to to…

"Jeannie?" She again heard him ask, and she looked at him hard, staring back at her with astonished eyes, as though he wasn't sure what it was he was looking at.

He… he thought she was _her_? But, why?

And then she remembered the way that woman looked, her… her hair, her frame… She realized how much she looked like _her_.

Suddenly it clicked in her mind. That was it. That was how she could fix this. How she could save him from… from this _bitch_!

She swallowed thickly, slowly pulling out the chair opposite him and sitting.

"Y… yes." She started hesitantly. "It's me…"

And a kind of desperate hope past over his features then.

"Y-you came… you came b-back? I… I t-thought you'd… you'd left… I thought…"

"We're married?" Harley cut him off, asking pointedly.

And he stopped, staring at her in puzzlement.

"… Y-yes." He started quietly. "O-of course we are. We… we've been married for… for three years…"

Rage erupted in Harley, jealous, blinding rage, and without thinking, she lurched forward, hand reared back, coming swiftly forward to slap him across the face.

His eyes at once grew huge with shock, and he shrank back, arms coming instinctively up to shield himself from the coming blow.

She saw it, saw the move to defend himself, only then realizing what she was doing, and somehow she stopped herself, halting her motion only inches from his face.

She lowered her hand, leaning back, regarding him carefully, several seconds having to pass without incident before he began, slowly, to lower his arms from his face.

And he looked at her with so much fear and confusion then.

She licked her lips, exhaling heavily.

Was he actually _scared _of her?

Everything was so confused now.

But, she supposed, perhaps this could work to her advantage.

"Listen, uh…" She began, clearing her throat.

She realized if she was going to get anywhere, if she was going to make what she had planned work, she was going to have to try and glean as much information from him as possible. About him… about this woman, and whatever… whatever it was they had together.

"What were we… uh, what were we talkin'… t-talking about last time we saw each other?" She tried to correct her accent, realizing it wasn't likely this woman sounded anything like her.

The Joker stared at her quizzically.

"It… it's hard for me to… to remember…" he began. "I th-thought… you said I couldn't… couldn't come w-with you. You said… s-said I had to s-s-stay here."

Harley nodded.

"Do you know why?" She asked.

And he shook his head.

"Y-you said I… I had to g-get better. B-but I… I d-don't feel sick. And this h-hospital doesn't… it isn't a r-regular hospital, I don't think… I don't think it is."

She shook her head.

"It isn't. It's a mental hospital."

His eyes went wide.

"A… a m-mental hospital?"

She nodded.

"B-but I'm… I'm not… I'm not c-crazy. I'm not!"

Harley's brow furrowed.

Her puddin' wasn't crazy. She knew that. It was the rest of these bozos who didn't seem to get it.

But now… now he sure was acting _strange_.

And she thought it must be this woman… _Jeannie_, who was making him lose his mind for real.

Well she would fix that.

"Listen, pu… honey… I need you… I need you to talk to me about… about our relationship."

"O-our relationship?" He looked truly confused.

Again she nodded.

"It… it's an evaluation test. To determine the state of your mental health. They wanted me to conduct it because… because they say you've been having a difficult time communicating with the doctors here."

He blinked.

"I… I haven't s-spoken with any… any d-doctors. T-they k-keep me in this… this r-room, they…"

"Baby, look…" Harley cut him short. "Just do what I tell you. Okay? If… if you do what I tell you, I can get you out of here."

A moment of silence past.

And then he swallowed thickly.

"… You… you'll t-take me h-home?"

She nodded.

God, this was bizarre. She couldn't believe how unsure he was of himself. He didn't even look like the same person. He was always so powerful looking, so confident. Now… now he looked like he might cry if she rose her voice at him. And the way he was talking… Mister J was always so well spoken, so sophisticated sounding to her. Now it seemed he could barely get the words out at all. He kept tripping over them, stammering and stuttering.

He seemed… _weak_ to her.

And she didn't like it.

She _hated_ it.

"I'll take you home. But you gotta… you have to answer my questions, and you have to do it _honestly_."

Again she saw him swallow, and he gave a weak nod.

"O-okay." He said. "Okay Jeannie."

And she had to fight not to frown at him mentioning that woman's name. It sounded… _wrong_ coming from his mouth. _Vile_.

She exhaled slowly, pursing her lips.

"What's your name?"

"M-my n-name?" He asked, sounding lost.

"Yes. Your name."

He said nothing for a long moment.

"I-I d-don't unders-stand… Jeannie… y-you know m-my name…"

"_Just_… answer the question." She snapped.

He flinched visibly.

She frowned.

"It's necessary." She went on, trying to coax him more gently.

Several more seconds past in silence, his hands falling to his lap, his long fingers curling in to his palms.

"J-Jack…" He said softly. "N-Napier."

She absorbed the name, rolling it around in her head.

Jack Napier? It sounded so… so plain, so _common_. Hardly suitable for her puddin'.

She just nodded.

"And how long… how long have we been together, Jack?"

She could see his face lining with strain, with anxiety. He looked worried.

"J-Jeanne, I don't… I d-don't understand…"

"_Jack_!" She spit harshly, watching him shrink back at the rise in her voice.

She could use this. He was like a wilting flower, it seemed to her. Incredibly nervous, easily intimidated.

Mister J was unrecognizable at the moment.

But him being so timid, she realized, she could easily twist his perception.

Make him think she… make him think _Jeannie_ hated him. Make him think she wanted to hurt him.

It almost seemed too easy, and she had to work to keep the smile from her lips.

"Don't argue!" She went on. "Answer the damn question!"

His entire face fell, his brow furrowing heavily, his mouth pulling in to a trembling frown. She could see immediately his eyes had grown glassy.

Tears?

She could hardly believe it.

"I-I-I-m s-sorry J-Jeannie…" he began, his voice shaking noticeably now. "I-I'm s-sorry. Please… p-please don't be… d-don't be m-mad at me…"

"Well you're _making_ me mad!" She hissed, and again he flinched, his eyes lowering to his lap.

"I… I'm sorry." He whispered, so softly she almost didn't hear.

She breathed out.

This was going to take some getting used to.

If she talked to him like this in any other circumstance, he would have backhanded her across the mouth.

Now he was cowering in his seat, unable to hold her gaze.

"Just answer the question." She continued. "How long have we been together?"

"We… we've k-known each other since… s-since we were c-children. D-don't you remember Jeannie?" He glanced briefly up at her. "We… we met in m-middle school…"

He was so confused.

Jeannie had never spoken to him like this before.

He didn't know what he'd done. Didn't know why she was so angry.

Oh God, he wished he could fix it, whatever it was.

He couldn't bear Jeannie being mad at him. He couldn't.

"Is that when we started… _dating_ Jack?" Harley was barely able to get the words past her lips.

He shook his head.

"N-no. We… we s-started in hi-high school."

"And what were we before that? Just friends?" She pushed.

"Y-you…" He started quietly, his head bowing lower. "You were my… m-my only friend."

Harley's mouth twisted to the side.

_Now _she was getting somewhere.

"You're _only_ friend?" She asked.

He didn't answer, and she could again see his breath quicken.

"Why was that Jack? Why didn't you have any other friends?"

Several more seconds past in silence.

"_Answer_ me Jack. Why didn't you have other friends?"

"… P-please Jeannie, I… I c-can't…"

"Answer me Jack, or I'm leaving right now."

His eyes came up, filled with panic and dismay.

"N-no!" He started. "No, pa-please, d-don't. Do-don't go…"

"Then answer me Jack. Why didn't you have any friends?"

Again his eyes lowered, his hands beginning to twist together.

"I…" he started, his voice now strained. "They… t-they didn't l-like me. They… they t-thought I w-was… was s-strange."

"Who?" Harley asked. "The other kids?"

He nodded.

"Why? Why'd they think you were strange?"

His head began to shake.

"I… I d-don't know." He stammered. "I don't know…"

"What about at home Jack?" Harley pushed.

She thought this would be harder. That she'd find it difficult doing this to him. But the way he was acting… she actually found herself disgusted. Annoyed by his meekness.

She had to do something. She couldn't let this happen to her puddin'.

She _wouldn't_.

And if it was at all possible, he seemed to curl further in to himself.

"H-home?" He questioned.

"Yeah. You know Jack, what about at home. Your mother? Father? What kind of relationship did you have with them?"

"J-Jeannie, please…" He nearly whispered. "P-please, stop… I don't… d-don't want to t-talk about this…"

"Well you _better _talk about it Jack, or I'm leaving." She spit, unsympathetic.

He shook his head.

"Please…" He said, and she could tell from the strain of his voice that he was on the verge of tears.

"Alright. Fine. Have it your way." She said, beginning to stand.

And almost immediately he looked up, distraught.

"No! P-please. Please d-don't!"

She looked at him sternly.

"Then answer me." She said. "Your mother and father, tell me about them."

He stared at her wide eyed, not understanding, feeling scared, confused.

Why was she asking him these questions? Why was she forcing him to talk about it? She… she knew about this. She knew.

But she seemed so angry, and he didn't want her to be. He didn't.

"M-my mother…" He swallowed, once more having to look down. "My mother d… she died when I was… when I w-was b-born." He struggled to get the words out, his eyes closing, memories filling his mind, his father screaming at him, telling him how it had been his fault, how he'd killed her, how if it hadn't been for him, she'd still be alive. And familiar self-hatred filled him as he felt the tears stinging at the back of his eyes.

"And what about your father?" Harley pushed.

And he couldn't stop the tears now, pushing past his lids, sliding down his cheeks. He turned his head, ashamed, not wanting her to see.

He knew if he spoke, his voice would break, would waver.

So he said nothing.

"What about your father Jack?" She said more firmly.

"Please Jeannie…" He begged, his voice now shaking heavily. "I can't… I can't…"

"You can't _what_ Jack?" She asked in annoyance. "Talk about your father? Why _not _Jack?"

"Y… you know w-why?" He answered, hushed.

"It doesn't _matter_ if I do Jack!" She hissed. "I want you to _tell _me. Why can't you talk about your father? What, he used to hit you? Smack you around?"

And a quiet sob tore from his throat.

"J-Jeannie… please… why are you… why are you d-doing this?"

"It's for your own good Jack." Harley was quick to respond. "Answer the question or I can't get you out of here."

"... I don't understand…" He whispered.

Harley said nothing, staring hard at him.

It was clear to her than there was some kind of strained relationship between him and his father, though she didn't know what. Very apparently, however, he wasn't keen on speaking of it.

Slowly, a smile spread across her lips.

That was it. That was how she could make him turn on her. Turn on Jeannie.

She sighed loudly.

"Listen… Jack." She began. "The real reason I'm asking you all this… I don't know how to put this gently. Jack… I… I don't think we should be together anymore."

Immediately he looked up, his eyes huge with shock, glassy with his falling tears.

"J-Jeannie?" He asked, confused. "W-what… w-what are you t-talking about?"

He couldn't have heard her right. He couldn't have. Please, _God_, he couldn't have!

"Jack, I'm just going to be honest with you. Your father and I, we were having an affair."

The horror across his face then was immense, and she knew she'd said the right thing.

"W-what?" He stumbled, barely audible.

"An affair Jack." She answered, her voice steady. "Your father and I, we were having an affair."

He blinked.

"A… an af-fair?" His tears fell faster, thicker.

She nodded.

"That's right. We were sleeping together Jack. I just… wasn't ever really satisfied… with you."

He stared at her, his eyes filled with disbelief, and crushing pain.

His head shook.

"P-please… Jeannie…" His voice shook near uncontrollably now, strained and filled with terror. "P-please, dd-don't s-say tt-that… d-don't…"

She shrugged.

"What do you _want_ me to say Jack? It's true. And we can't be together anymore… I've… I've decided to be with Batman now Jack. I need a real man. A strong man."

His entire body began to tremble then, to shake.

"J-Jeannie, nn-no… no p-p-please… p-please, don't… dd-don't s-s-say t-that… d-don't…"

This wasn't happening. Oh Jesus Christ, _please no_. This wasn't happening. She was… she was all he had! Why was she saying this? What had he done? What had he done to cause this? She… she didn't mean it. She didn't. She _couldn't_. Oh God please, please, please, she couldn't mean this!

"Jeannie pl-lease, p-please…" He began to sob, his voice hitching, his hands coming up, reaching out for her. "I-I-I'm s-sorry… I-I'm so-sorry. P-please… pl-lease, you do-don't... don't mean t-t-that…"

His fingers brushed against her hands and she pulled away, as if repulsed.

"Don't touch me!" She hissed. "We're _through_ Jack. I'm sorry, but I'm with Batman now. You just weren't ever big enough of a man for me, I'm afraid."

"No Jeannie… N-nno, p-_please_…" He cried. "I-I-I'm s-sssorry, p-please. W-w-whatever I di-did… p-p-please, I'm s-sorry. _Please Jeannie_!"

"It's just you Jack…" Harley said coldly. "I just don't love you anymore."

And he crumbled. Devastated. Falling in to horrible, racking sobs, his body shuttering.

"Oh G-God… Oh God, n-no… no… p-please God… no, d-don't do thi-t-this… p-p-please… don't d-do this…"

Again he tried taking her hand, his face a mask of pain.

She slapped him away, hard, and he shrank back.

"Please…" He continued to beg, his voice growing frail, weak. "Y-y… you're all… a-all I h-h-have… you're all I have… I l-love you Jeannie. I love s-so m-much…"

"Well I _don't_ love you Jack!" She spit. And her eyes roamed over his form, repulsion flashing. "You make me _sick_!"

He broke.

His hands coming up, grasping tightly along the sides of his head as he began to sink back, low in to his chair, his eyes closing, a terrible, keening whine rising up from his throat.

Oh God, he had nothing. Nothing anymore.

He was alone. Completely alone.

She hated him. She _hated_ him, oh Jesus…

She must always have.

He was impossible to love.

Oh God, he _knew _he was. He'd always known it.

Why had he every believed otherwise?

No one could ever love anyone as horrible as he was, as useless, as worthless.

No one could ever love a freak like him.

A loud sob pushed past his lips as he began to sink further, leaning over as he felt the strength sap from his body, his despair consuming him whole.

He was empty, and there was nothing for him.

Harley watched him with a kind of cold detachment.

It was for his own good, she reasoned. This wasn't her puddin'. Whoever this was, he had to be driven out, and this was the way to do it, to get rid of his past completely.

Get rid of _her_.

"What the hell's going on here?" She heard the blunt voice of an orderly, barking over them, and she looked up, seeing several of them, standing there, watching the display.

"I'm done here." She said. "I'd like to leave now."

The orderly looked at her, then to the Joker, his brow furrowed in deep confusion and wonderment.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing, nor could the others.

"What the hell happened here?" He demanded, and Harley just shrugged.

"You should probably take him back to his cell." She said flatly. "He's clearly having an episode of some kind."

Still the orderly stared at her in puzzlement, the others transfixed on the Joker as he sobbed, his face now buried in his hands.

They had no idea what was happening, what they were even looking at.

The Joker, crying? _Sobbing_? Harley not seeming to care? This was straight out of the Twilight Zone.

Harley looked at them expectantly, her brows raised in expectancy.

"Well?" She started.

They seemed to snap to attention then, blinking.

The first man swallowed, turning towards the Joker.

"Let's… let's get him back to his cell." He said, moving forward.

The others stared a moment, not moving, astonished.

When the first orderly put his hands on the Joker and he shrank down, curling in on himself further, his sobs failing to cease, the others snapped in to action, helping to lift him from his chair, undoing his chained feet from the seats legs.

And the Joker complied without protest, allowing himself to be led from the room, practically needing to be carried, several times stumbling, nearly falling, would have if not for the hands holding him up.

All the while, Harley watched, a vague smile forming on her lips, thinking indeed she'd executed that to perfection.

Soon the bitch would be gone, and she'd have her puddin' back, all to herself.

/

**Harley, you bitch! But I guess we knew she wasn't going to just relinquish her puddin' to Jeannie without a fight. Still, that was pretty mean of her, Jack being so vulnerable and confused, her taking advantage of that.**

**Harley and Jeannie look incredibly alike, both very petit, both blonde and good looking, both with blue eyes, etc… which is the reason for Jack mistaking Harley with his wife. I figure, for the purposes of this story, the Joker chose Harley because, subconsciously, she reminded him of Jeannie, a subconscious attempt to regain and hold on to a past he's long since forgotten. Of course, he wasn't at all aware of this, thus, subconscious. **

**Please remember to leave reviews guys. And thanks to everyone who's continued to stick with me through this story, and who's reviewed previously. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22:**

_He could feel his father's eyes on him, staring at him. But he wouldn't dare himself look up, keeping his gaze fixed down, on the bowl of cereal he'd earlier prepared himself, the one he'd been eating in his room when he heard his name barked out, followed by the demand that he come to the kitchen. There he'd seen his Dad, sitting at the table, beer bottle sat along its edge, his hand resting beside it, his other tapping loudly against the cheap wood. He'd snapped for Jack to sit down, saying he wanted to talk to him. And Jack had complied without question, though silently a million thoughts ran through his head. He was never allowed at the kitchen table, most especially when his father was there. And since he'd quietly pulled out a chair, lowering himself in to it, keeping his eyes away, his Dad hadn't said a word to him. That had been a solid five minutes ago, the whole time and his father just stared, unmoving._

_Jack felt nauseous from the tension. From the uncertainty of what his Dad wanted, or what he was going to do. _

_He kept looking at the cereal, now growing soggy in the milk. He'd barely gotten two bites in before he'd been commanded out here, and he now wondered why he'd carried the bowl with him. His Dad didn't like to see him eat, or to eat around him. He said the sight of Jack made him too sick to digest his food properly. He knew he couldn't busy himself with finishing his meal then, and so he just sat, being as still as he could, waiting for whatever it was his father was going to say or do. _

_This was, perhaps more then anything, what made Jack so nervous. The anticipation of his father's actions, the not knowing. Sometimes his Dad would fly in to a rage, go mad with anger and beat him to unconsciousness. Other times, he would do nothing at all, just keep staring at him like this before finally telling him to "get the fuck out of here." And sometimes he would start talking to him. And his father only ever talked to him for two reasons. Either to scare him, or to try and make him cry. Or both._

_When his father spoke, Jack hadn't been able to help himself from visibly flinching, the sound of the man's voice had so startled him._

_"How old are you Jack?" He'd asked, then paused. "... Fourteen? Fifteen?"_

_"S-sixteen Sir." Jack managed, keeping his eyes trained down._

_"Sixteen!" His Dad exclaimed. "Really? You're _that _old?" _

_Jack nodded, feeling his hands tighten to tension filled fists in his lap. He swallowed, dreading already where this was going._

_"Sixteen years old!" He Dad went on. "Goodness, that's quite an age to be at. Just about the time your hormones start to _really _kick in."_

_Jack said nothing to that, trying to remind himself to breathe, to keep calm. He could already feel his heart beating hard in his chest, wishing he knew what his father was doing, so that maybe he could prepare, maybe make it less horrible, whatever it was going to be._

_"You know Jackie-boy, when __I __was that age, I was already what you'd call a _stud_. Broad shouldered and barrel chested, and I'll tell you, the ladies just couldn't get enough of me..." He stopped, chuckling. "And I sure couldn't get enough of _them_either."_

_Jack remained silent. Oh God, he wished he could go, could somehow escape. But he couldn't, he couldn't get away. If he tried that, his Dad would just run him down and make him pay._

_"You know, it's funny Jack..." His father went on. "You're sixteen years old, hormones just _raging_ inside you I bet, and yet, whenever we've been out, I've never once seen you look at a girl. Never even a backwards _glance_." His father shrugged, grabbing hold of his beer bottle and taking a swig, slamming it back down on the table with a loud clatter. "Just doesn't make a whole lot of sense. It's like you don't see em'. Or maybe you're just not _interested_, huh Jackie-boy?" _

_He glared at his son, who stayed unmoving, stayed quiet. He didn't know how to answer, didn't understand what his father was asking._

_"So why's that, Jack? Why don't you ever look at any girls? There's plenty of lookers in this city. You gotta be feeling something when you see em', unless..."_

_Again he paused._

_Jack felt his hands curl tighter, and inadvertently his head bowed lower, his nervousness increasing. Was he supposed to say something? Was his father expecting him to respond? Even if he knew he was, he wouldn't know what he should say. He didn't know what his father meant, what he was talking about. He tried to even his breaths, tried to keep from panicking. _

_"So why is that Jack?" His father repeated, and now he knew he wanted an answer. _

_Jack swallowed, trying to wet his rapidly drying throat. _

_He didn't understand._

_He had trouble looking at everyone. It was just hard for him. He was embarrassed, afraid for them to see him, scared they could always see what a loser he was, see how pathetic he was. He felt ashamed when he looked in to another person's eyes, like he didn't deserve to, like he wasn't worthy of it; like they shouldn't have to be bothered with the sight of him. Looking at another person was like exposing himself, allowing them to see how sorry he was, how stupid and ridiculous. _

_But how was he supposed to explain that to his father? _

_He opened his mouth, trying to answer._

_"... I... I don't..." He began, his voice already shaking. _

_"You like boys Jack?" His father cut him off. _

_Jack paused, his brow furrowing. Now he felt doubly confused._

_"W-what?" He asked, the tension growing still._

_"Boys Jack?" His father pressed. "You like them? You think about touching them, or them touching _you_?"_

_Jack had no idea what he was talking about, what he meant. He could feel his heart beat quicken, and now he was starting to feel really scared. _

_"I... I d-don't..." He started again._

_His father reached out suddenly, slapping him lightly across the face. _

_"Look at me when I'm talking to you boy!" He snapped. _

_Jack shrank back at the contact, slowly lifting his eyes to glance at the giant man, his head still held down. _

_He didn't know what to say, and now he felt like he had cotton in his mouth. _

_His Dad's face twisted in to a frown._

_"Answer the _fucking _question Jack!" He spit. "You in to guys? You think about them _sexually_?" _

_Without thinking, Jack looked down in embarrassment. The word alone was enough to cause it. He'd always been taught by his Dad that he should be shameful of anything related to sex. That to think of it even was a bad thing. Jeannie had told him that was absurd, that he had nothing to be ashamed of. She'd been showing him that it was okay. That to want it was okay. But his Dad didn't know that. _Couldn't _know that. He would kill him if he ever found out... Ever knew he and Jeannie had..._

_"N-n-no. No S-Sir..." He stuttered. _

_His father continued to glare. _

_"_Look _at me boy." He seethed quietly. "Can't believe you if you can't tell me to my face."_

_Again Jack forced his eyes up, putting all his effort in to holding it this time. _

_"So?" His Dad went on. "You have impure thoughts about other boys Jackie? You fantasize about them? About them shoving their God damn _cocks _up your ass." _

_Jack's eyes went wide and inadvertently he again looked away, his face flushed red, mortified. _

_"N-n-no!" He insisted desperately. "N-no!" _

_His father smirked, laughing lowly. _

_"Still can't look at me and deny it Jackie-boy." He said. "So I guess that's an admission of guilt. You're queer all right. Queer as a three dollar bill." _

_"I-I'm n-not." Jack stammered. "I p-promise I'm n-not." _

_"Like _hell _you're not!" His father spit. "You little faggot! Can't even look at me! I bet you'd like to suck some guys dick, wouldn't you Jackie? I bet just the thought of it gets you all hot and bothered." _

_Jack shook his head, his eyes on his lap, feeling the heat of humility. _

_"N-no. I-I-I d-don't..." He stumbled over the words, trying desperately to make his father understand, to listen. "I d-don't w-w-want..." _

_His father smirked. His son made it so easy, he thought, so easy to play, to fool. He loved to watch him _squirm_. _

_"You callin' me a _liar _boy?" He said, leaning in close to him._

_Jack felt on the verge of a panic attack, his eyes growing wider, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts, like he couldn't get enough air to his lungs. Oh God..._

_"N-no Sir. P-please I... I d-didn't m-mean... I-I'm so-sorry... I..." _

_"So you admit it then!" His father snapped. _

_Jack didn't know what to do, what to say. He was terrified now, scared to even speak. _

_He shook his head._

_"Please..." He whispered. "I-I'm not..."_

_Suddenly his father pushed back in his seat, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the kitchen floor, and he stood, towering over his son now. _

_"You refuse to admit it!" He raged. "But you can't even look me in the eye and deny you're a fag! I don't _believe _you Jack! I think you'd like nothing more then to have another man's _dick_ inside you!"_

_Again Jack shook his head. He could feel himself trembling now, recognizing his father's threatening stance. _

_"P-please... I-I'm s-sorry, I d-d..." _

_"In fact, let's put it to a _test_." His father cut him off. "What do ya say Jackie-boy? Let's see just _how _much you like it from a guy."_

_He reached out, and Jack shrank down in his seat, wanting to run, to get away. _

_But it was no use._

_His father grabbed hold of his arm, yanking him up, in to the air. _

_Jack felt his stomach flip, not knowing what he was doing, what was going to happen. _

_Panic took him as he was pulled easily in to the apartments living area, dragged across it and shoved back, against a wall. _

_His father sneered, pressing a heavy hand to his chest, pinning him down._

_Jack looked up at him with horror filled eyes, his heart pounding, the sound filling his ears. He felt faint, weak, like he was going to collapse, if not for his Dad, pressing him back, making him feel as though he couldn't breathe._

_Oh God, what was he going to do?_

_Sickening anticipation filled his mind, and a tingling sensation ran across his skin, like a thousand needles, all attacking him at once. _

_He gasped as he felt the pressure increase on his chest, and his father's other hand came up, grasping hold of his jaw, squeezing down with thick fingers. Pain flared, a sad whimper escaping Jack's throat._

_He was powerless, unable to move, to do anything at all, and there was the familiar, crushing realization then, the dizzying knowledge that, whatever his father was going to do, whatever it was he wanted, he wouldn't be able to stop it, _couldn't _stop it, no matter what._

_Oh God, please…_

_His Dad smirked, glaring at him with heinous eyes, his fingers closing tighter around his son's jaw. _

"_Let's see how much you want it." He hissed, his voice just above a whisper._

_He ran his thumb softly over Jack's bottom lip before taking hold his jaw again. And suddenly he was leaning in, closing what little distance there was between them, and then… Oh God, oh Jesus Christ what… what was he doing? What was he _doing_?_

_Jack felt his stomach drop and his entire frame go rigid as his father pressed his lips against his own, _kissing_ him. Utter terror ripped his heart, and he tried pulling away, tried turning his head. But he was held fast, solidly, unrelentingly. Oh Christ, he couldn't _move_._

"_Open your mouth." His father muttered against him. _

_No, no, no. This wasn't happening. Oh God _almighty_, this wasn't happening, _please_!_

_Jack's eyes closed in some desperate hope that if he couldn't see it, it wouldn't be real, and he sucked his lips in, holding his mouth as tightly shut as he could. _

_Please, please, please… don't let this happen. Don't…_

_He heard his father growl against him, and suddenly he couldn't feel the weight of the man's hand on his chest or the pressure of his fingers along his jaw anymore. Suddenly, those hands had come up and were burying themselves in his hair. _

"_I said open your _fucking_ mouth!" His Dad screamed, tearing his head from the wall and slamming it back with enough force to make the world spin in nauseating circles. _

"_Open your fucking mouth or I swear I'll crack your _fucking_ skull open!" He again tore his head forward and smashed it against the wall, so hard now Jack felt sure another blow might kill him. _

"_P-please…" He begged, but his doing so only caused his father to again ram his head back, and he could feel his skull vibrate with the impact, the pain becoming worse. _

_He couldn't take much more. Dizziness consumed him, explosions of white filling his eyes and a horrible buzzing in his ears. Once more and he thought it would be over._

_Why… Oh God, why… He couldn't understand. He didn't want to die, but he thought then it might be better if he'd never been born._

_Please God…_

_He felt his head jerked forward again, his father's grip tightening in his hair, ready to crush his skull._

_He didn't want to die…_

_Slowly he began to open his mouth, his lids held tightly shut, his body trembling more violently in anticipation of what he knew was coming._

_And then it came. _

_He again felt his father's lips against his, and then the wetness of his tongue, pushing in, past his teeth, sliding over the insides of his mouth, against the roof and across his own tongue. _

_Almost immediately tears sprang to his eyes, squeezing out past the corners of his lids and down his cheeks. _

_His Dad continued to hold his head still with fingers curled in his hair, his other hand having moved back down, half gripping his jaw, half pressed against his throat. _

"_Mmm, you like that Jackie-boy." His father muttered, continuing to kiss him, to invade him with his tongue. _

_The only response he got was a half-choked sob. _

_What had he done? What had he done to deserve this? _

_He didn't know. He didn't understand._

_He could feel his father's teeth, biting down on his lip and leaning harder in to him, his hand falling more to his throat and pressing with more force, stealing away his air. _

"_I'll bet you like it _real _good." He again muttered, and again, Jack could only sob in reply._

_This must be a dream, a nightmare. It couldn't be real. It _couldn't_. Maybe if he focused, he could wake up, could force this all gone._

_But he knew that wasn't so. He knew that._

_He jerked, trying one last time to pull away, but it was useless, impossible in this man's hands._

_Suddenly his father pulled back, still holding him against the wall. _

_He chuckled, licking his lips, running his tongue over his teeth. _

"_You like that Jackie-boy? That make you feel nice and _warm_?" _

_Jack said nothing, refusing to open his eyes. The tears fell hot down his face, burning his skin, and he fought hard to not make a sound, to hold in the anguished cries which threatened to tear from his throat. _

"_Hh. Maybe you need something a little more _stimulating_, huh Jack?" He heard his Dad say. "Maybe what you _really_ want is to feel a man's hands on you. Is that it Jackie? Is that what you _really _want?"_

_Still Jack said nothing, still refusing to look, willing himself to stay silent. _

_All at once, he felt his father's hands move from his hair and throat, one pressing down on his chest, the other against his stomach. _

"_Let me see if I can get you to _beg_, Jackie-boy." _

_And suddenly he felt his father's knee, coming up, pressing hard in to his crotch, forcing his legs apart. He could feel the hand against his stomach begin to move down._

_Panic took him, total horror, and without thinking, his eyes opened, and his own hands reached out, taking hold of his father's arm, trying to stop him, to keep him away. _

_His Dad's eyes shot up to his face, filled with murderous rage, and he roared, tearing his arm free of his son's grip. _

"_You little _shit_!" He screamed._

_And in an instant, he'd captured both of Jack's wrists in one, giant hand, jerking his arms above his head and pinning them to the wall behind. _

_Jack cried out with the pain which erupted inside his shoulder joints and in his wrists as his father's hand tightened with what seemed enough force to snap the bone. _

"_You'll stay _still_!" He spit._

_And now Jack couldn't help the whimpers from escaping his throat. He wanted to beg, to plead with his father to stop, but he knew it would do no good, that it would only make the man angrier. _

_Several seconds past, his Dad continuing to glare at him, doing nothing, just holding him still against the wall. But then Jack felt his knee, pressing up in to his crotch again, again forcing his legs open, and now he could feel his father's free hand moving back down, moving to the inside of his left thigh, and up, sliding towards his genitals. _

_A moment later, and Jack felt himself being cupped, his father squeezing down and beginning to rub him through the material of his pants. _

_And he couldn't control himself now as desperate, tortured sobs tore from his lungs, racking his entire body. He turned his head away, pressing it to the side as far as he could; the only movement he was allowed, the only way for him to move back. His eyes clamped tight as tears continued to run in endless streams down his cheeks and his chest began to rise and fall in rapid, shallow bursts. He was hyperventilating, a pathetic hiccupping noise coming in between his loud and broken sobs. _

_Oh God, please… _Please_ make this end, make it __stop__._

_He suddenly felt his father's breath against his ear._

"_You like that Jackie-boy." He whispered. "Does it make you feel _good_?" And the pressure against his penis was more, his father's hand pressing down and jerking at it hard._

_Another cry tore from his throat and he tried in vain to pull away, only to have his arms pulled further above his head, stretching him out more, leaving him open, exposed. _

_Suddenly thoughts of Jeannie filled his mind._

_Oh God, what if she… what if she found out about this? What if she somehow _found out_? Oh God, she would _hate _him. She would think he was disgusting and… and _leave _him, never want to see him again. Oh God, no, please,_ please_ don't let that happen. Please don't… _

_His sobs became stronger, louder and more uncontrolled, shaking through his entire frame now._

_And then, without warning, he no longer felt his father's hand at his crotch. An instant later, and it was back gripping his hair, tearing his head forward. And again, he began kissing him, biting down on his lip, forcing his tongue past his teeth, in to his mouth. _

_Jack felt completely without strength, lethargic and weak, his legs feeling like they would give way, his knees shaking, his head spinning._

_And then his Dad was pressing his entire body against him, leaning in to him, beginning to kiss him more violently. He could feel his father's penis throbbing, pressing against his own._

_Oh God… _God_… why couldn't he just die? Why couldn't he just fade away in to nothing? Please, please, he couldn't take this… he couldn't take it anymore. _

_He wanted to die. _

_He wanted to…_

_His father rolled his hips against him, grinding in to him. _

_His head spun faster. _

_Please God, no…_

_Hips ground harder, hard friction, bucking up against him. _

_His father moaned in to his mouth. _

_And then he could taste the bile, rising up, out of his stomach, in to his throat._

_No… please no… _

_He tried desperately to will it back down, to force it back down. _

_But it was too late. It was far too late._

_The vile flavor rose up, filling his mouth, and he couldn't stop it. There was nothing he could do to stop it. _

_The thick liquid pushed forward, escaping fast from the corners of his lips, running down his chin. And in an instant, it erupted out, an unstoppable force, against his father, in to his father's mouth._

_Almost immediately the hold on his wrists and in his hair released, and his Dad went stumbling backwards, off of him. He was spitting and hacking and wiping violently at his face and his mouth. _

"… _What the…?" He started, looking with complete disgust at the thick, brown liquid now coating his hands as he ran them across his lips. "What the _fuck_!"_

_He looked up at Jack, slumped down on the floor, against the wall, shaking uncontrollably, his arms wrapped around himself, horrible, unrestrained sobs escaping his throat, racking his body, tears running fast down his face. There was vomit down his chin, on the front of his shirt, on the ground._

"_You _fucking_…" His father raged. "You fucking disgusting piece of shit! You piece of _SHIT_!" _

_And suddenly he was coming towards him, fury in his eyes. _

_Jack fell away, trying to crawl backwards. But there was no where to go, and in an instant, his father had taken hold of him, taken hold of his collar and was yanking him up. _

_He slapped Jack, hard across the face, backhanding him the other way, splitting his lip wide._

"_You filthy, disgusting _bastard_!" He screamed, doing it again. _

_Jack cried out, his hands coming up to try and protect himself, but his father just swatted them away. _

_Suddenly he gripped his son's shirt in both hands, and lifting him bodily, he swung him around, letting him go to fly across the room._

_Jack crashed against the floor, against his shoulder, and a choked scream tore from his throat before he came to a halt, sprawled out on his back. _

_His Dad started towards him again, and complete terror gripped his heart. He tried to get up, to crawl back, away from the encroaching mass of a man. But it was in vain. His father was on him before he could even begin to move, and he reached out, burying his hand in his son's hair, lifting him up from the ground as though he weighed nothing. _

_Pain radiated through his scalp, and he cried out, tears continuing to run from his eyes, his hands coming up to hold to his father's wrists._

"_You _disgusting_. _little_. _shit_!" His Dad screamed, and with each word, he punched Jack as hard as he could in the face, so hard that with the final blow, the hair tore from it's roots, and Jack went crashing back to the floor, his hands releasing their weak hold on his father's wrists._

_The man growled, tossing the hair he'd torn from his son's scalp away and laying his boot in to Jack's stomach. _

_Jack gasped out, the breath being ripped from his lungs, and he curled in on himself. A moment later, and he felt more bile rise up in his throat, and there was no stopping it as it forced its way past his lips, mixing with the blood from his nose and mouth. _

_His father's lip curled in repulsion, and he moved around, sinking his boot in to his son's lower back. _

_Again Jack gasped, sucking in sharply, trying in a panic to get air back to his lungs. _

_The pain engulfed him, making the room spin._

"_Get up!" He heard his Dad bark. "Get the _fuck_ up!" _

_But he couldn't move, he couldn't even _breathe_._

_He just lay there, convulsing, shaking without control, sharp gasps and quiet sobs the only sounds he could make. _

_His father exploded with rage, and he reached down, again taking his son by the hair and jerking him up, on to his knees. _

"_I said get UP you fucking worthless bag of _shit_!" He slapped him once more. "Get UP! Before I fucking _kill_you!"_

_Tremors ran through Jack's entire frame, the tears blindingly thick in his eyes, the taste of blood and vomit filling his mouth, consuming pain pounding inside his skull, across his face and through his body. _

_He again gasped, still trying to suck air, the sound choked off by another sob as he father released his hold on him and he once more crumpled to the ground. _

"_Get up _now_." His father again demanded. But now his voice was quiet. "Get up before I kill you boy."_

_The fear Jack felt made him sick, made him sure he might vomit again. His Dad was going to kill him. He was going to _kill _him if he didn't do what he was told, if he couldn't make his body work. _

_He choked out another sob, somehow rolling to his knees and planting his hands flat against the floor. His arms shook terribly with the effort as he attempted to push himself up, and a moment later, they gave way, and he collapsed back on to his face. _

_His father said nothing, just standing there, watching. _

_He tried again, his arms feeling just as weak, shaking just as violently. _

_He had to make it. He _had_ to or he was going to die. His father was going to kill him._

_He pushed himself up, on to his feet, and now his legs shook, his knees buckling and, once more, he crumpled. _

_And still his Dad said nothing, still only watching. _

_The fear gripped him wholly, forcing him to again cry out, to sob in desperation. _

_Please… Oh God… please… _

_And again he struggled to his hands and knees, and again to get to his feet, to this time stay there. He had to, oh Jesus, he _had_ to._

_It was the terror that was making it so hard to stand, that was making him so weak, stealing all his strength away. _

_He was so scared, so desperately afraid. _

_His eyes closed as he tried to focus, tried to will himself to stay up. _

_And somehow he did, somehow he managed to keep from falling back down._

_His father stared at him, his mouth pulled in to a severe frown. There was pure revulsion in his eyes, pure hatred. _

_Jack couldn't look back at him, his head bowed down, his eyes fixed on the floor as he continued to shake, to tremble and cry. _

"_Take your clothes off." He heard his father snap. _

_Greater panic gripped his heart, further terror racing through him, and it took everything within him to not again fall. _

_His eyes lifted, wide and filled with tears._

"_W-what?" He stumbled, his voice shaking uncontrollably. _

"_Take your _fucking_clothes off!" He father repeated, stepping towards him. _

_Jack flinched. _

_Oh God… what was he going to do? _What was he going to do_?_

"_P-pl-please…" He started without thinking. "P-please d-d-do-don't…" _

"_Take em' off or I'll take em' off _for_ you!" His Dad cut him short._

_Jack shook his head. _

"_I c-can't… please… I ca-an't." His voice hitched._

_Without warning, his father lashed out, grabbing hold of his arm and jerking him forward. _

_He said nothing as he grabbed the hem of his son's shirt and began pulling it up._

_Jack fought weakly to stop him, to pull away, but his father just backhanded him across the mouth, knocking the resistance from him. He fell limp at the promise of more violence, and within a second, his shirt had been stripped off, torn over his head._

_His father let go of his arm then, his hands moving for the waist of Jack's pants, beginning to undo the button and then the fly, and Jack could only stand, helpless as his trousers were pulled down to his ankles. _

"_Take em' off!" His Dad barked. "Step out of them!" _

_Jack trembled, still crying as he did as he was told, lifting his feet out of the slacks. _

_And now he stood in only his briefs, shaking as his arms came up, wrapping around himself in some desperate attempt to hide his body, his eyes on the floor. _

_His father sneered. _

"_Look at you!" He spit, his eyes running up and down his son's frame. "Fucking _pathetic_!" _

_Jack said nothing, just standing there, curling in on himself._

_His father began to move around him, circling him, taking him in. _

"Disgusting_." He went on. "You're _soft _Jack. Soft like a fucking _girl_."_

_Suddenly he reached out, taking hold of his son's arm, pulling it straight. _

_Jack flinched._

"_Look at that!" He snapped. "Soft! No muscle, no definition!" _

_He threw his arm back down, continuing to circle around him, to his front. _

"_No fucking chest." He spit, running his eyes over Jack's torso. He reached out, jabbing his finger in to him._

_Again Jack flinched. _

"_Fucking stomach sticks out…" His Dad continued, poking him there. "Like some bloated fucking _baby_. _Soft_."_

_His eyes dropped lower. _

"_Legs like God damned toothpicks!" _

_He looked up to his son's face, his lip curling in disgust. _

"_You're a sorry fucking sight Jackie-boy. Fucking _sickening_! Can't even be called a _man_."_

_Tears continued to escape down Jack's face, and still he looked away, his body still shaking. _

_He wished so much he could just vanish, disappear in to nothing. _

"Look_ at me!" His Dad spit, reaching out and slapping him across the cheek. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" _

_He tried, barely able to lift his eyes, still unable to look in to his father's face._

_His Dad took him in, shaking his head, his mouth twisting in distaste. _

"_Fucking disgusting." He muttered, and Jack said nothing, his eyes falling back down._

_Several seconds more past, silence filling the space, and Jack prayed silently that it would be over, that his father would be finished, that he would just send him back to his room now._

_But those prayers would fall on deaf ears._

"_On your knees!" His Dad ordered. _

_And a thousand possibilities drifted through Jack's mind, each more horrible then the last. _

_He began to shake more terribly still._

"_P-p-please…" He started, but before he could finish, his father had again snapped._

"_On your God damned _knees _boy!"_

_And now he knew not to argue, to just do as he was told. _

_Again his thoughts went to Jeannie, of how pathetic he would seem to her, how her mouth would twist in disgust at the sight of him, sickened by his weakness. _

_A strangled sob escaped his lips as he sank down, on to his knees, his head bowing low._

_His heart pounded in his chest, the sound filling his ears. Terror consumed him, dread filled anticipation running in to the pit of his stomach, and he felt again like he might be sick._

_Oh God, how much more… how much more…_

_He heard his father move away, his boots sounding loud against the apartment's floorboards. And then there was the rustling of blinds, and Jack felt his insides seize up. A numbing cold ran through him, a paralyzing sensation, like he couldn't move, couldn't breathe._

_No… please no… not that… _please_not that._

_He heard his Dad coming back, the sound of his footsteps seeming somehow heavier._

_And then it ceased, and the giant man was crouching beside him, breathing against his ear._

"_I hear a peep out of you…" He began lowly, whapping the curtain rod against his palm. "And that's ten extra lashes, _Jack_."_

_His father buried his hand in his hair, jerking his head up. _

"_Ten extra for every _sound_you make." He seethed. "_Understand_?" _

_And Jack nodded weakly, fresh tears running down his cheeks._

_His father said nothing more, pushing his head down and standing, moving around behind him. _

_Jack tried to brace himself, to prepare for the pain he knew was coming. _

_But nothing could prepare him for this. _

_He heard the plastic whip through the air before it made contact with his exposed back, and his eyes closed tight as he bit down on his lip, trying desperately to keep himself from crying out. _

_But when the rod lashed against him, tearing at his skin, and the pain flared up like fire, engulfing the whole expanse of his back, he couldn't help it, couldn't control the tiny whimper which forced itself up out of his throat and past his lips. _

_No…_

_More tears came, falling rapidly down his cheeks._

_Plastic whipping through air, again the rod fell, and again a sob escaped him._

_No, _please_… _

_Another lash, like a hot blade, and he sobbed loudly, unable to hold it in._

Please _stop… stop _crying_._

_Again he bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood now, to cause pain._

_A distraction. He needed a _distraction_. _

_His father wouldn't grow tired. _

_Again the rod tore at him, and he felt a scream erupt in his throat. He bit it back, his teeth sinking harder in to his lip, more tears squeezing from his eyes._

_Please _don't_…_

_Another lash._

_Another scream stopped. _

_And again. And again. And again._

_His back grew raw, the skin becoming flayed, the pain so bad now, so refined, it almost wasn't like pain at all, like something worse, something more definite, more acute, more permanent._

_He felt cold._

_So cold…_

_He saw Jeannie suddenly, smiling, reaching out to him. He reached back, feeling the warmth of her hands on him, her gentle hands, her _kind _hands. _

_She was so kind._

_Oh God, he thought, please Jeannie, please…_

_He didn't want her to hate him. He didn't want her to…_

_Not like everyone else._

_Please… not like everyone else._

_His eyes opened and he was lying flat, his face against the floor, his father's feet in front of him._

_He wasn't even sure when it was his father had stopped. _

_The pain had become solid to him, constant. He could feel no difference between the rod hitting and the brief moments in between, everything blurring together, becoming all the same. Even now it felt the same. No respite, no relief._

_No escape._

_It hurt so much… so much… all he could feel…_

_He was crying still, a soft whimpering as tears scorched his cheeks. _

_His father's boot moved forward, pressing against his shoulder, nudging him hard. _

"_Get up." He said, his voice flat, emotionless. _

_Jack tried. He tried to move. But the pain overwhelmed him, and he choked out, barely able to make it to his hands and knees before he crumpled._

_He shook violently, trying again, another, gurgled sob tearing from his throat. _

_He felt on fire. Like he was burning alive. _

_His father stood by passively, watching, saying nothing. _

_And when finally, after a third try his son had made it to his knees, he barked._

"_Look at me, you worthless piece of shit."_

_Jack fought back another sob, forcing himself to lift his eyes, barely able to see past the thick coating of tears._

_His father stared down at him, disgust apparent across his face, and he scoffed, shaking his head, as though he couldn't believe how pathetic his son was, how pitiful. _

"_I'm taking a shower." He said. "To wash your _filth_off me." _

_He looked away for a moment, ahead of him, before returning his gaze back down. _

"_If this _mess_ isn't cleaned up by the time I get out, and that includes _you_Jackie-boy, then it's ten lashes more. _Understand_?" _

_Jack nodded weakly, his eyes falling back to the floor._

"Speak up_!" _

"_Y-ye… yes S-Sir…" He said, his voice trembling. _

_His father smiled. "Good." He said. _

_He began to move past him, but then he stopped, looking back over his shoulder._

"_Oh, and Jack?" He started. _

_Jack remained unmoving, still on his knees._

"_If I don't think you look _presentable_… I'll break your fucking legs." _

_And then he turned, heading towards the bathroom. _

_And it was when he heard the door close, Jack could no longer hold it in, collapsing to the floor, racked by violent sobs, a plaintive wail rising in his voice, tortured and broken. _

_Devastated. _

_He thought of Jeannie, of her beautiful face. And humility burned his own. _

"Please God_…" He thought. "_Please don't let her find out_… _

"Please don't let her hate me_."_

_He pushed himself to his hands and knees then, pushed himself to his feet, knowing he had little time._

"_Please…" He whispered. _

_And he staggered towards the kitchen sink. _

"_Please… don't hate me…"_

_/_

**Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I know it was pretty graphic and probably not the easiest thing to read. Just to give you all a little perspective, these flashbacks are essentially taking place in the Joker's mind. This is him remembering moments from his past, recalling his past. More and more of his memory continues to return to him as Jeannie spends more time around him, so he's recalling his past, and that's what these flashback chapters are. Him remembering. **

**Anyway, like I said, hope you enjoyed it and thanks to everyone who's read and left reviews. I appreciate it more then you know!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Hey guys, so, I'm posting the next chapter because I had it done and I figured 'why wait?'. Anyway, I'm getting the feeling from some of you that you aren't enjoying the flashback chapters quite as much as the present ones. If that's the case guys, you have to let me know, otherwise, I won't know what you do and don't enjoy. Feedback is important for this reason. **

**Basically, the flashbacks are just there to help develop character, to give better perspective on how these characters got to the point they're at, etc… But anyway, after this chapter, the story is going to take a decidedly more action-oriented turn, and hopefully, some of the chapters will flow together more fluidly. I know on a few of them, there's gaps from where one scene left off and another began and it can be a bit jarring. Part of the reason for that is, whenever the Joker falls back in to the Jack persona, there's large gaps in his memory. Jack doesn't remember being the Joker, or what he did as the Joker, and vice versa, the Joker doesn't remember being Jack, or what he did as Jack. So part of it is to give the reader the same sense of confusion that the Joker/Jack feels whenever personalities are switched.**

**Anyway, huge thanks goes out to my beta TheMadCapLaughs for her help on this chapter. As always, she makes my writing infinitely better, I think. **

**Hope you guys like it.**

**Chapter 23:**

His eyes opened on hearing the beep of the electronic lock, followed by the familiar swoosh as it unlatched. He wondered to himself why these buffoons never seemed to learn. Why they came back repeatedly; always trying the same, useless tactics, somehow convincing themselves that _this_ _time_ would be different.

Wasn't that the very definition of insanity? And yet it was he who was locked away; the one everyone considered mad.

The door opened, creaking softly on its hinges. He heard footsteps.

A single pair.

That was odd.

The orderlies in this place were certainly moronic, but none had made the mistake of attacking him alone. Not since he'd first been brought here, anyway. They knew better. Their only protection was in numbers.

Perhaps it was a new boy, and no one had bothered explaining to him about the pitfalls of engaging the Joker without aid.

The footsteps drew nearer, and growing impatient, tired of this ridiculous game, the Joker sighed loudly.

"Come to try your hand then, have you?" he drawled, bored.

For several seconds, there was no reply.

He was about to comment on the absurdity of the man coming here with the intention of imposing his will, only to be frightened away with nothing but a few, choice words, when the man spoke, his voice graveled and dark.

"I wouldn't say… _try_."

The Joker's brow furrowed, his mouth pulling in to a frown. So it was going to be one of those, was it? Overconfident, brash, witless? Easy pickings, then. Such utter stupidity. It could _only_ have been someone new.

_If he wants a show, he'll have it_.

"Well then, my _fine_ fellow…" he began, turning over, "since obviously you're _so _insistent…"

Then he froze, the breath catching hard in his throat. His eyes sprang wide in horrified realization as he took in the apparition before him; queasiness churned his stomach.

"You…" he managed after a moment, his voice barely a whisper.

The man smiled.

"Hi there, Jackie-boy!" he announced, stepping closer. The Joker reflexively backed away. "Been awhile, hasn't it?"

"You… but you're…"

"Dead? That's right, my son." He nodded solemnly. "But I came back, boy. I came back just for _you_."

And the Joker's head shook.

"No, you're… you're dead. You're _dead,_ dammit!"

"Oh, I'm _dead_ alright, Jackie-boy!" He lunged forward, burying his hands in the Joker's shirt and jerking him up, backhanding him across the mouth. "And yet … and yet I've never quite felt so _alive._ It's great, isn't it?"

And now the Joker realized the sickness he'd been feeling was fear.

No. No. This couldn't be happening. It _couldn't_.

He'd been ready for this. Ready to give him a taste of _real _pain. Show him his great folly for having ever _dared_ touch him like he did. He'd engaged with the supposedly supernatural before, and had almost always come out on top.

So why couldn't he move? Why could he feel himself trembling, nauseous with dread, with _terror_?

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't how he was supposed to react. The Joker didn't _know_ fear, he didn't _feel_ it!

But all he wanted in that moment was to run, to get away and hide.

He was scared. He was _truly_ scared.

And suddenly, in this man's grasp, he felt devoid of all his strength, all his abilities. Everything he knew how to do, everything he'd learned, all his experience, knowing how to _fight_… it was all gone. He couldn't do any of it; anything. He was powerless, subdued, at the mercy of another.

And the experience was so utterly foreign to him. He'd never felt this, never known what it was like, to be so _consumed_ by fear.

That was other people. Not him. He knew, he'd caused it himself so many ti…

Oh God…

"Ll-let m-me gg-go…" he said, his voice shaking, lacking conviction.

His father smiled, leaning in close.

"Okay, _Jackie-boy_…"

And with a strength the Joker didn't even think possible, more brutal and complete than the Bat's, the man yanked him forward, spinning him round and hurling him across the space.

The Joker landed, searing pain running through the whole of his body. He sucked in sharply as he felt the wind knocked from him, a desperate gasp tearing from his throat.

He exhaled sharply as the pain intensified. He felt a rib crack. Dust flew up, invading his lungs, making him choke.

Where was he? This wasn't right. This wasn't…. Why was the floor suddenly made of dirt?

He struggled to push himself to his hands and knees, his teeth grinding together. And as his eyes lifted, he saw spread out before him an overcast skyline, gathering in might, and a ground like the desert but harder, colored burnt orange as though the sun were setting on it. Yet there was no sun, no light to be found; no rain, or wind; or warmth or coldness. Just an expanse of dead land and angry, ponderous sky.

He had only a moment to contemplate what made absolutely no sense before he heard the crushing of gravel underfoot, right behind him, and he turned, met with the sight of his father, towering above him, smiling wickedly.

And the Joker fell back, pushing away, crawling backwards in an effort to escape.

"_Look _at you, Jack." The man's lip curled in disgust. "So fucking _pathetic!_" He bent down and slapped the Joker lightly across the face. "Come on Jackie, are ya gonna _cry_?" He slapped him again. "Are ya gonna cry for me like a _little boy_?"

And in that moment, that's exactly what the Joker felt like. Weak, vulnerable, unable to defend himself. There was a second slap, and the Joker lifted his arms, trying to shield himself.

"T-th-that's not my… m-my name…" he stammered.

His father smirked.

"Ohhh, _that's _right. I for_got_. You're a big _man_ now, ain't ya? Big, bad _Joker_!" He snickered. "Funny, the only _joke_ I see round here is _you_." He took painful hold of the Joker's jaw, squeezing down tight, pulling him forward. "Ya know, _Jack," _he hissed, "I always _knew _you'd end up in the _funny farm_."

The Joker's eyes were wide, shocked, his voice trapped in his throat.

He father grinned, smoothing his thumb across the Joker's cheek, wiping at it. And only then did the Joker become aware of tears against his skin.

"Atta' boy!" he said. "I knew you had it in you." His grip tightened, and the Joker choked out. "So tell me Jack, how'd it _feel_? How'd it feel to lose your _mind_?"

The Joker tried pulling free, the effort in vain.

"I-I-I'm n-not… n-not c-crazy…" His voice was pleading now.

"Oh, you're crazy alright," muttered his father. "Why _else _do you think you're in here, huh? They only put _crazies_ in a place like this, Jackie-boy. And you've _always _been crazy, always had a _fucked up_, handicapped mind. It only makes _sense_ that you'd end up here. You never _could_ take care of yourself, could you? Finally ran outta people willing to wipe your ass for free, huh? So you end up here, with _doctors_ and _nurses_." He snickered. "_Professional_ care."

"N-no… no, that's not… n-not tr-true!" The Joker struggled. "It's not!"

"Yes it _is,_ Jackie!" His father pulled him forward roughly. "You _belong_ here boy. You belong in the madhouse because you're _sick_. You've got a sick, disabled, _dysfunctional _mind. And you were _never_ strong enough to make it on the outside, to make it in life."

The Joker's head shook, still pulling weakly at the man's vice-like grip.

"No. N-no…"

"Yes!" His father pushed. "Why don't you just admit to it, huh? Why don't you just accept how fucking _screwed up_ you are? What a _loser _you are!"

The Joker's eyes squeezed shut, tears pushing from their corners, streaking down his cheeks, his head shaking more violently. And suddenly he reached out, pressing his hands against his father's chest.

"No. You're wrong. _No!"_

And with every ounce of strength he had, he shoved the man from him, pushed him back.

His father went crashing to the ground, splayed out on his back, and the Joker pushed himself to his feet, his entire frame trembling, his hands curling to fists.

"If I'm mad it's only because you _made _me this way!" His voice cracked in desperation. "It's _you!_ I'm in here because of _you!"_

His father stared up at him, a smug smirk across his lips.

And the Joker stared back, eyes wide, tears continuing to stream ceaselessly from them.

He shook his head, his hands coming up, wiping the backs of them across his face and turning.

God, why couldn't this _end_?

His gaze lifted, blurred by his tears, looking out over the vast and seemingly endless expanse in front of him, and somehow he knew, no matter how far he ran, how fast, he would never get away.

He stumbled forward, his legs feeling weak and useless beneath him. A moment later and he felt himself collapse to his knees.

And suddenly his ears filled with a thundering roar, huge and unyielding, and he heard the screams of a man.

He turned, his eyes growing wide as he watched fissures and cracks appear in the earth beneath his father, splitting open, a fiery glow emanating from its depths.

And he watched as his father struggled desperately, clinging to the edges of the crumbling ground, trying to pull himself back up. It was his father screaming, begging, pleading with his son to save him.

"Jack! _Jack!"_ he wailed. "Don't let me fall, son! _Don't let me fall!"_

The Joker stared back at him, unmoving, filled still with terror and uncertainty.

"_Please, Jack!"_ he wailed frantically. _"Help me! You beat the Devil himself, son. Only you can help me n…"_

"That charlatan wasn't the fucking devil," Joker yelled, emboldened. "_You are!" _

"No … _no_, son …"

The Joker laughed bitterly. "Didn't you _know_, Daddy dearest? Joker _trumps_ deuce." He turned his back on his struggling father, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso.

Why? Why wasn't he taking his chance now? Why wasn't he running to kick the bastard in his face, help him down, back in to the pit from which he crawled? He had a clear shot, he could so easily… so easily do it.

He could have before. He could have.

Only… wasn't that what his father expected? Wasn't that what he wanted, proof of his son's insanity? What son would push his own father to his death, or back to hell, or whatever this place was?

And the Joker didn't understand why he then started towards him, why he bent down, why he held out his hand for the man to grab hold of.

"Closer, son! I can't… can't reach you from here. I can't…"

And foolishly, naively, stupidly - everything the Joker had been sure he wasn't - he did as his father asked. He leaned closer, stretched his hand out further, only realizing his mistake the moment the man had taken hold of him, squeezing down on his hand with crushing pressure, a malicious grin spreading across his face.

"I've got you _now,_ boy!" he hissed. "I've got you _now_."

The Joker recoiled, falling back, trying with all his might to pull his hand from his father's iron grip, his face twisted in shock and horror.

"_N-No!"_ he screamed. "_No… Let me go!"_

But his father's only response was laughter, the sound indifferent, chilly, like the rattling of a million bones. It was then he realized just how very much the laughter sounded like his _own_.

"_No!"_ he cried out, pleading to a God he didn't believe in.

"Come on, Jackie-boy." The mirthless laughter continued apace as his father dragged him closer to the edge. "You think _God_ has any time for a _thing_ like you? Don't be ridiculous! You belong in _Hell, _Jack! Down in hell with _me_!"

And the tears returned to the Joker's eyes now as he fell to his back, trying so desperately to pull away, each moment passing, being brought closer.

Something was happening to his father. Slowly, he was being eaten away. It was like watching flames lick and consume a piece of paper. Soon, all that was left was a blackened, smoking skeleton, a lifeless carapace. This grisly shell continued to speak; a bony hand tightened its grip on the Joker's wrist, seemingly possessed of an even greater strength than before despite the absence of muscle and tissue.

"It'll be just like old times, _son,_" said the creature. "You and me, _together_. Only this time, my boy, there's no running away. This time… it's forever…"

And his other hand came up, wrapping tight around the Joker's ankle, dragging him forward.

"_No!"_ he screamed, his voice broken and uninhibited, clawing uselessly at the ground. _"No, God Almighty, save me! Please, SAVE ME!"_

But the only answer to fill his ears was the answer of his father's continued laughter, cold and empty and cruel as he pulled his struggling son in to the earth, pulled him down in to eternal condemnation, forever damned to the torturous existence which had made him into a monster.

He woke screaming, his heart pounding wildly, uncontrollably in his chest, his hair plastered against his forehead with sweat dripping from his body, his breathing shallow and rapid and painful.

Where was he? Where was…

His gaze snapped to his side.

Jeannie… where was Jeannie?

She was always there! Always there when this happened! Always there to make it alright. To let him know…

What was this place? Why wasn't she…

And dawning realization struck him, like a slap to the face, remembering… remembering.

Oh God, no.

Why was this real? What had he done? Oh Jesus, what had he done to deserve this?

His face crumpled, his heart sinking, and he couldn't help it as the tears welled quickly in his eyes, falling rapidly down his cheeks.

His pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, burying his face against them.

There was nothing for him anymore. Nothing.

Jeannie, she… she hated him now. She hated him and she wasn't coming back. She wasn't. She never wanted to see him again.

And this place, oh God this place was so cold… Everyone hated him. He was a freak, an abomination.

They were so cruel, so mean… always laughing, saying things to him he didn't understand… telling him things, horrible things, about himself. They called him by some name. Joker… He didn't know what that meant. What it was for. And he was so confused.

Oh God, he wished Jeannie were here. He wished she didn't hate him.

He wasn't going to make it.

He was going to die in here.

There was the sound of a lock opening, a loud beeping and a swooshing noise, and instantly his head rose, eyes wide with fear.

The door to the room he was in began to pull open, and he pushed back on the bed, pressing himself in to the corner. And he felt his heart seize in his chest as he watched four men enter, large men, smiling at him with narrowed and amused eyes. The last of them pulled the door shut, the first stepping forward.

"Hi there, Joker!" he said, his hand resting at his hip, where he wore a nightstick made of thick plastic.

Jack swallowed thickly, his eyes huge with terror.

Oh Jesus, what did they want?

The first man's brow furrowed and he leaned closer.

"What's this, Joker? Are those…?" And then he smiled wide, standing back straight. "They _are_! Those are _tears_! You been _cryin_', tough guy?"

"Lemme see!" Another of the men stepped forward, looking hard at Jack, then laughed.

"Shiiit, this freak done went ahead and turned _bitch_ on us, fellas!" he crowed. "Look at this fuckin' fag, cryin' like a little baby!"

The other two gathered around, forming a half circle around the cot, all staring at him, smiling, not bothering to repress their snickering.

"Huh. Didn't think I'd ever see the day when the _Joker _turned in to a pussy. But I guess you hang 'round here long enough and ya see everything."

Jack's heart began to beat faster, and he could feel himself trembling.

"P-pa-please…" He began to beg. "P-please, I… I don't b-belo-long here, I…"

He was cut short by uproarious laughter.

"Would ya get a load of this clown? Hey, _bozo_, I don't know if you've looked in the mirror lately, but you's a certified _freak_. And a sick motherfucker to top. There ain't no place you belong _more_. Cept' maybe in hell."

And they all began to laugh.

Jack felt like he was going to throw up.

Why would no one listen to him? Why couldn't anybody see?

"P-please…" he implored. "Please, there's… t-t-there's b-been some ki-kind of m-mistake. I d-don't…"

"Save it freak-show! Your little mind games ain't gonna work on us."

Jack stared back with confused eyes.

Mind games? What were they talking about?

He was so lost, and nobody seemed to care, nobody wanted to listen.

"Heh. Look at em'," another man started. "He looks like he's about to piss himself, fellas! Now wouldn't _that_ be somethin'?"

The first man laughed.

"Well, why don't we see if we can _make _him, huh? The way he's goin', it shouldn't take too much, right?"

"Yeah, man," replied his friend. "Sounds like a plan. See if we can't get him to turn those pants a' his a little darker."

"So whatdaya' _say_ Joker? You ready for some _fun_ and _games_? I know you're usually just _dyin'_ to get the party started."

Jack looked frantically between them, not knowing what they meant, what they were saying.

"_Please_…" he begged. "I don't… I-I don't know w-what you're t-talking about…"

"_Shut it_!" The man drew back his hand and whipped it across Jack's face, knocking him against the wall. Jack cried out at the contact, and without any further warning, the men had taken hold of his legs, dragging him off the bed, on to the floor, the fall against his back immediately knocking the wind from him, his skull cracking against the ground making the room spin in dizzying circles.

They pulled him to the center of his cell, releasing their hold on him, and as he was still struggling desperately to regain his bearings, they pulled their clubs from their belts, circling round him.

"Get up, faggot!" One of them nudged him against the shoulder with their foot.

He flinched away, curling in on himself.

"Please…" Jack pleaded, feeling a fresh wave of tears stinging at the back of his eyes.

"Get UP!" The orderly kicked him harder.

Fear forced Jack to comply, as he struggled to push himself up. The moment he did, a billy came smashing down hard against his jaw, crumpling him back to the floor like a bag of stones, blood filling his mouth. The blow was disorienting, and he rolled, directionless and confused on the ground, a low, agonized moan escaping his lips.

But before the pain had a chance to level out, one of the men pushed him over on to his side, while a second sank his boot heavily into his stomach. Jack gasped loudly, the breath ripped from his lungs once more. A moment later and he heaved, nothing coming up but bile, sputtering and shaking.

One of them raised their billy above their head, bringing it down swiftly, crushing it against Jack's shoulder. He tried to cry out, but the sound emerged as a pitiful wheeze.

A second came swinging down, smashing across his ribs, consuming pain ripping up his side as the bone cracked. And now a full scream tore from his throat, broken and strained.

Oh God, oh God, he'd never felt this kind of pain. His entire body felt like it was breaking, being crushed from the inside out.

"P…" He struggled, his voice weak, barely audible. "P-pl-please, ss… s-sto-op." He cried, tears filling his eyes, falling rapidly.

But they didn't listen, only laughing at his apparent distress.

Without mercy, they brought their clubs down on him, across his shoulders, across his ribs and his back and his stomach, across his legs, his cries of pain gradually growing weaker as the strength went from his body.

He felt ruined. The agony spread slowly then flared sharply, burying itself in his bones. His vision had begun to blur; not with tears, but with the blinding heat of his fractured insides, and his mouth filled with the taste of his own blood.

He was going to die. They were going to keep beating him, and he wasn't going to make it.

And just as the thought had passed through his brain, the pummeling ceased. For the briefest of moments he allowed himself hope that they were finished.

It would be short lived.

"Pick him up, put him against the wall."

A moment later, he felt them lifting him up, grabbing him under his arms and dragging his limp body across the floor until they reached its far end, spinning him around and slamming him back against the hard concrete wall, holding him against it.

His head lolled forward, too weak to keep it up, bloody saliva hanging and dripping down off of his slacked, lower lip.

One of the men buried a fist in his hair, jerking his head up, a small hiss escaping his throat at the flare in pain across his scalp.

The orderly looked at him with a grimace.

"You don't look so good, Joker-man," he mused.

Jack said nothing.

"Maybe what you need's a good face beatin', huh? Fuck up that pretty _smile_ of yours?"

The fist slammed against his jaw like iron, snapping his head back, cracking his skull against the wall, that followed quickly by another blow, turning his head fully to the side.

He wanted to fall; his body begged to crumple, to escape the assault. But he could not. Held up and against the wall, pinned back by hands gripping mercilessly round his arms. His legs were useless, bent at the knee, his feet drooping.

More blood and spit drizzled from his lip, another blow, and a loud, high pitched buzzing began to ring in his ears, his eyes exploding with a white flash, something between a gasp and a wheeze pushing from his throat.

Someone threw an uppercut, smashing in to his jaw with such force that he bit hard in to his own lip, his head flying up, his mouth filling with more blood from the now gaping gash in the thick flesh.

Again he wheezed out, and felt hands grasping alongside the sides of his head, fingers digging in to his hair before abruptly, he was kneed in the stomach, the blow rattling his broken ribs and stealing his breath away. He sputtered and choked, gagging on his own blood as it flew forth from his mouth with the violence of his convulsion.

His breathing was so ragged now, so shallow, he was certain he was dying.

The men were laughing; saying something he couldn't decipher thanks to the ringing in his ears.

"Hold em' nice and tight for me boys. This one'll knock straight in to China."

That followed by the man stepping back, giving himself more room as he readied his fist.

"Say hello, ya stupid freak." The fist plunged forward and crushed against Jack's face.

And Jack could feel the bones shattering, feel his nose exploding with blood and instant, nauseating pain tearing through him, tears filling his eyes and falling in streaks down his face.

He felt the hold on his arms begin to loosen, then let go completely, and immediately he collapsed to the floor, a broken, bloodied heap, unmoving save for the imperceptible tremor which ran through his frame.

The orderlies were still talking, still laughing.

"So now what?" one of them asked.

"Leave him for the nurses. We'll just tell em' the freak-show did it to himself."

"Yeah, it ain't like that'd be unusual or nothin'."

One of them planted the sole of their foot firmly against Jack's shoulder, pushing him over on to his back, and he felt his stomach heave as a fresh wave of nausea took him.

"What's the matter Joker?" he snickered. "By now you'd usually be _howlin_' with laughter! So what's the deal? Lost your sense of humor all of a sudden?"

But he received no answer beyond the sharp, inaudible gasps of Jack's breathing.

"Fuckin' pitiful," he muttered. "Always knew he was a wuss, underneath it all…" And then he scoffed. "Let's get outta here."

The men shuffled about only a few seconds more, and as finally they turned to leave, one of them hacked up, spitting a wad of saliva into Jack's face.

He didn't move. He couldn't move. The thugs let themselves from the cell and disappeared. He heard their laughter echoing down the corridor; the sound of whoops and hands slapping as they gave each other high-fives.

Jack could hear the pulling open of the heavy, iron door, could hear it slamming shut behind them, and only then did their hysterics fade completely away, and he was left alone in silence, the harshness of his breathing amplified in it.

He thought of Jeannie.

She'd left him. And with good reason.

He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, didn't know _why_. Huge blocks of memory gone from his mind.

Oh God, maybe he really _was _insane.

He'd seen his reflection in the clear window fronting this room, seen his hands … And he'd been sure he was hallucinating.

But he kept waking up in places, in positions, in conditions he couldn't remember having gotten into.

And he'd begun to think instead he was delusional; truly sick.

If Jeannie hadn't had enough reason to leave him before, the loss of his mind would surely have been the instigator of her doing so now.

Or maybe she'd found out what a mess he'd made of everything, of how he'd endangered her life, and the life of their unborn child, through nothing but his own _stupidity_. Perhaps even _she _had had her limits, and he'd gone beyond them.

She'd seemed to not know of what he'd gotten himself in to, back at that apartment, the one she said her parents owned. She must have found out, and now she hated him.

And she _should_.

He hated himself.

This now was his punishment, what he deserved for ruining her life… Just like his father had said he would.

He'd been right. He'd always been right.

Fresh tears filled his eyes, streaming over his temples and into his hair.

He'd lost everything.

Jeannie… Oh God, she'd been the only part of him that was worthwhile – the only person who'd made _him_ feel worthwhile - the only thing about him that was _any good_.

Without her, he was nothing.

He tried to shift over onto his side, trying somehow, anyhow, to alleviate the racking pain he was in.

It only made it worse.

"Ghahhhhh!" he gasped loudly, sharply as he crumpled over on to his stomach. He couldn't even muster up the strength to put himself out of his misery. Not that there was any means of doing so here, in this cell. No light fittings, or belts, or ropes, or electrical points. Even the decision to end his life - to end his suffering and that of others - was denied him, it seemed.

"Ghaa, huhaaa…"

High pitched, ragged sounds continued to escape from his throat as he tried in some desperate attempt to escape this, pulling himself along the floor by his elbows, as if trying to crawl out of his own agony.

The room seemed to spin around him as the pain increased tenfold, spots of black dancing rapidly before his eyes. Then nothing as the pain overloaded his system and he fell in to blackness, passing out.

/

When he woke, the first thing he became aware of was the pain, spread out over the entirety of him, as before only not as acute, somewhat dulled, an ache settling in to his bones and muscles. He tried to swallow; his throat was dry. There were sounds around him, though he couldn't make out who or what was making them, or what the sounds even were.

He tried opening his eyes and it was then he realized how very heavy his lids were. It was as though they were sealed shut. His panic increased as it occurred to him that perhaps he'd gone blind from the severity of the beating, or that someone had come along and sewn his eyes permanently closed.

But no… no, that couldn't be. That didn't make any sense. He just had to try harder. He just had to concentrate. So he did, focusing all his thoughts on the task. And, finally, after what seemed an eternity, he could feel his lids beginning to flutter. But as they began slowly to lift, his eyes were filled with a blinding, white light, and they again closed against it, tight, trying to block out the searing brightness.

The voices around him grew louder still, more lively and distinct, but the words themselves remained muddled.

Once more, he attempted to lift his lids, his eyes this time squinting to reduce the influx of light. It was still too bright, however, and he went to lift his hand over his eyes to shield them. But when he made the attempt he felt his arm stopped, snapped abruptly back down.

Confusion took his mind, the panic returning when he tried moving his other arm, and then his legs, only to be met with the same result. And it dawned on him with a very real sense of dread that he was in someway being held down.

His eyes snapped open, met again with the light, his sudden fear forcing them this time to stay open.

"Nurse! NURSE!" He could now make out the words. "He's awake! Come quickly, please! He's waking up!"

It was a woman's voice, concerned, frantic …

"_Please_ hurry!"

_Jeannie?_

His head turned towards it, blinking almost frantically, trying desperately to clear his vision.

Slowly, his eyes began to focus, and he could see it was her now. He could see it.

His mouth opened, wanting to say her name. But all that would come out was a dry croak.

He tried again, forgetting the straps holding him down, his hand lifting without thought to reach out for her.

"Jea…"

Again his hand was snapped back, and she felt her eyes tear, stretching her own hand out for him.

"_No contact!"_ the nurse snapped. Jeannie looked up at her in agitation. "His arms are tied down!" she argued, but the woman didn't seem to care, saying nothing as she reached out, grasping him gently by the jaw and turning his face towards her. She placed her thumb and index fingers around his left eye, spreading it wide, keeping his lids from shutting as she shined a pen light into it.

He tried turning his head away from the invasive brightness, but she only turned him back each time.

"Hold still." She reprimanded softly, going with the light to his other eye. "You're only making this harder on yourself."

This woman grabbing him, holding him still… Who was she? Why was she doing this to him? Her grip wasn't hard, but it hurt nonetheless. But Jeannie… She was _here_… Oh God, he wanted to see her, please…

Again he tried turning away, and this time the woman let him go.

"He looks fine." The nurse straightened up, flicking off the pen light and tucking it into her breast pocket with a precise motion. Looking intently at her husband, Jeannie could tell immediately that the Joker was gone.

"I'll inform the doctor that he's awake," said the nurse, placing a hand on Jeannie's arm.

"The pain medication!" Jeannie's eyes widened as she called out in a mild panic. "You haven't refilled the drip in over an hour…"

The nurse glanced back at her.

"He'll be fine."

"No." Jeannie argued. "Please, if it wears off…"

The nurse sighed, turning back fully towards her.

"Ma'am, I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but the Joker doesn't exactly seem to _mind_ when he's in pain… Sometimes I think he even _enjoys_ it, the times he's been in here…"

The idiot, Jeannie thought. She didn't understand. Didn't realize this _wasn't_ the Joker.

"He's getting what he wanted…" The woman went on, oblivious to the look of disgust across Jeannie's features. "He does this kind of thing to himself all the time. For the attention, mostly."

Jeannie's face turned incredulous.

"You think…" she began, startled. "You actually think he did this to _himself_?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Hey, I'm just repeating what I was told. Alright? He's done this before. More times than I can count." The nurse set about replacing the drip.

Jeannie stared back with angry eyes now, and her mouth opened, about to tell the woman off, to tell her she was not only moronic, but also in heavy denial if she believed he could have done _this _to himself.

She was stopped by the sound of Jack's voice, weak and hardly audible, saying her name.

Her eyes moved immediately to him, almost instantly forgetting the ridiculous nurse.

Jeannie thought she heard her say something again about keeping her hands to herself, but she barely noticed, and didn't care. All that mattered now was Jack.

"Jack, baby…" She began softly, in as reassuring a voice as she could. "It's alright Jack. I'm here."

But it wasn't alright. _Nothing_ was alright anymore, it seemed.

She'd arrived at Arkham that morning for another visit, when reception informed her that the Joker had been admitted to the infirmary with cracked ribs and a broken nose.

She'd demanded immediately to see him. Not surprisingly, they'd been reluctant. But she'd made clear she wasn't about to take no for an answer, threatening them even, telling them if they didn't allow her in, she was going to write an article on the negligent treatment of the Asylum's patients by the staff, promising a hailstorm of negative media attention.

And so they'd relented.

When she'd seen him, she'd nearly passed out.

His entire jaw and the area surrounding his eyes was colored deep black and blue. His nose was bandaged, gauze stuffed up his nostrils to help stop the bleeding, the whites of his eyes bloodshot from broken capillaries. And the swelling was terrible, distorting the slender structure of his face.

He hadn't been wearing a shirt, bandages wrapped tight round his torso, and Jeannie had felt dizzy as she took in the severe bruising, blue and purple and black, running over the entirety of his frame, not an inch of white visible from his shoulders down to his stomach, cut off only by the blanket they had covering his legs.

He looked like some fragile and broken doll to her, lying there, unconscious, so painfully thin; emaciated.

Evidently, he hadn't eaten a thing in days. Hadn't been taking care of himself, period. One thing she'd noticed about the Joker, in all those press photographs of him, is that he always looked scrupulously clean, sharp-dressed, his hair pomaded and styled to perfection. For a man who apparently cared about nothing and no-one, he seemed to take an immense, vain pride in his appearance. Even clad in his Arkham-issue prison uniform, the overall impression he gave when she'd first started visiting him was one of smartness and cleanliness. But here, in the bed, he looked grubby. His hair, limp and greasy, obviously hadn't been washed for some time. He smelled of old sweat; either he had refused to take showers, or had been denied the opportunity. Something was evidently getting to him, and it was manifest in his appearance.

If he was slowly reverting back to being Jack, then she could only imagine the extent of his confusion and depression at being locked away in this place. Perhaps he wasn't even _aware _that he was allowed to take a shower and wash his hair. Back when they were living together, she'd often had to remind Jack that he didn't need to ask her permission to do _everything._ This was a sad legacy of his father's treatment, where he couldn't do anything without say-so from his father; including going to the john or making himself something to eat.

"Why did you come back?" a weak, hesitant voice said.

Her own brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"_Why?_ Jack? Why _wouldn't_ I?"

"B … but you told me… you said…" Within moments, tears had pooled in his eyes, his voice seizing in his throat.

Jeannie saw instantly his distress, and without even thinking about it, she reached out, resting her hand atop his.

"Jack?"

His eyes flitted away, and she could feel him go rigid.

"… Why are you doing this?" he asked softly.

"… Doing _what,_ Jack?"

Still he looked away, saying nothing.

"Jack?" she pushed, feeling suddenly nervous. "Jack, _what _am I doing?"

"Please…" he finally answered. "I… I can't take this."

"Baby…?" And now her hand closed over his. "What is it? Can't take what? Tell me what's wrong!"

"I-it's cruel…" He nearly whispered. "Please, c-can't you just… j-just go…?"

She had no idea what it was he was talking about, and slowly, her concern had begun to grow in to fear.

"Jack, I don't know what you're talking about. Why… why do you want me to leave?"

His eyes closed, and his physical pain suddenly seemed so small compared with the pain of remembering her words to him. Why was she doing this? Why had she turned so cruel? Like everyone else?

"Jack, _tell _me what I did?" She implored now.

"You don't love me anymore."

Her eyes grew wide, the shock evident on her face.

"Jack, baby, what are you talking about? Of _course _I love you! I always have, and I always will, sweetheart!"

He continued to look away.

"You l-left me…" he murmured. "You said… s-said I w-wasn't enough f-for you."

Her jaw now hung open, bewilderment filling her.

"Jack, I… I _never_ said that! Where are you getting this from? Did you have a bad dream, honey? Jack … I would _never _say anything like that. Come on, baby."

"You told me…" he began, his voice strained. "You… y-you came and said you'd… you'd b-been with my f-father… that you were with that m-man now, the one who… who was there that day… the one dressed as a b-bat…"

And now Jeannie's confusion turned to horror. Because she could tell he wasn't lying; that he actually _believed_ what he was saying. And she didn't know if it was because he'd been hallucinating or something else, if maybe someone had… had somehow fooled him.

"Jack, my God, _no_. NO! That is _not_ true. _None_ of that is true! Baby, please, you _have_ to believe me! I would never… _have_ never been unfaithful to you. I would never even _think_ of your father in that way, and Batman is nothing more than a friend. He's trying to help us … to help _you_. Please honey, where did you get these ideas?"

Her emphatic tone caused him to look back at her. He detected the sincerity in her voice.

"But you…" he started, still confused. "You said… you were here, said you…"

Her hand tightened around his.

"Jack, I swear to you on my _life_ I never said any of those things. Please, I would _never _do that to you. I _love _you Jack. You _know _that."

He stared back at her, his eyes studying her face intently, and in them she could see a kind of hesitant hope.

"Jack…" she began. "What gave you these ideas baby? What was it?"

His forehead creased.

"Jack, did someone… did someone tell you these things?"

And slowly he nodded.

"Y-you… I thought it was… was you, but…"

She waited patiently for him to finish.

He looked away, his brow furrowing.

"It wasn't you?" He asked distantly.

And she shook her head.

"No Jack."

"But it looked so much like you…" He mumbled, more to himself then to her.

And very suddenly it dawned on her, the realization hitting her like a slap across the face. And what had been concern and confusion very quickly grew in to anger, so immense, she could feel her entire body go stiff, unaware of how her hand at once tightened around Jack's own, her lips pulling in to a thin line.

That bitch.

That… _fucking_… _bitch_!

It was perfectly clear now what had happened; what had caused these ridiculous notions in Jack's head.

Her eyes moved to his face, and seeing again how battered and bruised he was, and thinking now of how that woman… this _girl _who supposedly _loved_ him had so added to his misery… she nearly lost it, having consciously to reign in her explosive rage.

She couldn't do that around Jack, knowing how it would frighten him.

"Honey, listen, I need you to tell me something. Okay?"

He nodded slowly.

"Someone told you I didn't want to be with you anymore, someone told you these things, but it wasn't me. Alright? You know that now, right?"

He blinked, saying nothing.

"Jack, I need you to tell me what this person looked like. Was she… was she wearing a uniform like yours?"

For several seconds he remained quiet, and she could see he was thinking, before finally, he again nodded.

"S-she was. I didn't… didn't notice…" He said softly.

And that was all she needed to hear.

She was going to kill her, she was going to…

"You're not leaving me?" She heard Jack whisper, clear desperation in his voice, mixed with the kind of idealistic hope he'd always had.

When she looked back at him, she saw he was looking at her, his eyes glassy.

Her head shook.

"No. I'm not. I'm never going to leave you Jack."

And it was immediate the tears which had been pooled in his eyes fell, his entire expression seeming to crumple in relief.

He breathed out, the sound shuttering, and without thinking he tried sitting up, only to be pulled back down.

Jeannie leaned closer, bringing her other hand to his face, touching him gently.

"Jeannie…" He started, quietly, pleadingly. "I… I don't want to be here anymore."

She could feel fresh tears stinging at the back of her own eyes.

"I know Jack. I know you don't…" Her voice strained. "I'm working on getting you out. I promise I am."

And she wished more then anything in that moment that she could take him away right now, rescue him from this God awful place.

She was so afraid, scared out of her mind that they were going to kill him in here. If he stayed like this, oh God. She didn't think she'd ever hope he would convert back in to the Joker, but right now, it was the only thing which would keep him relatively safe.

She swallowed hard.

"Jack, baby, do you… do you remember what happened? Who did this to you?"

He shook his head stiffly, trying to blink his tears away.

He felt so unbearably weak and useless.

"S… some men." He said. "Th-they work here, I think. Jeannie, please, I'm… I'm so confused. Everyone keeps… keeps ca-calling me this name and… and my s-skin… I can't… can't r-remember anyth-thing lately. I think there might be s-something wrong with m-my m-mind."

The tears pushed past her eyes now, falling down her cheeks.

Oh God, how was she supposed to explain this to him? If she told him the truth, it would all seem completely unreal, seem illogical, and she doubted his ability to accept it. Why would he, after all, when he had no memory of what had become of him? When he knew nothing of the Joker or Arkham Asylum, or Batman?

"Is that why I'm here Jeannie?" He asked. "Di-did I have some kind of… o-of mental b-breakdown?"

Her eyes cast down, hesitation griping her.

"It's complicated Jack…" She said softly. "I promise I… I'll explain all of this to you soon."

"… I'm scared Jeannie." He whispered, nearly inaudibly, and her heart shattered.

She couldn't believe this.

Jack had never been able to admit to his fear, always so concerned with appearing weak in front of her, with seeming like a victim, worried he would come across as unable to protect her.

The fact that he now was, that he'd told her he was scared… it only underlined for her the severity of the situation.

"… I know you are." She said quietly, forcing herself to look back up at him. "I know. And right now I need you to give me a description of these men sweetheart, so I can make sure this… this doesn't happen again."

For several seconds, he said nothing, looking at her. And abruptly then, he cast his eyes away.

"Am I crazy?" He asked, his voice hushed.

Oh Jesus, what was she going to tell him? How was she going to explain? She couldn't lie to him. It wouldn't be right. But telling him the truth now might be too much, might ruin him further.

She swallowed.

"Jack, you… you've had some mental problems. But we're working on getting you better baby. We're going to get you well again."

He said nothing to that, continuing to look away, more tears filling and falling from his eyes.

"This place is like a prison." He finally whispered.

And she remained silent.

"It isn't… it isn't a… a normal mental f-facility, is it?"

Jeannie exhaled slowly. Her head shook.

"No Jack. It isn't."

"Why am I here?" He asked, finally looking back to her. "I can't… can't remember anyth-thing. I don't remember ho-how I got here even."

"Jack, it's… it's complicated…" She started, hesitant.

"Did I do something wrong?" He asked. "Is it… is it because of my helping those men? Jeannie, please, I… I didn't mean for it to happen. They told me no one was… was going to get hurt. I'm so sorry, please, I'm so sorry."

Her hand tightened once more over his. She couldn't tell him. Not right now. He wasn't ready.

"Jack, it's alright. I know that. And everything's going to be alright. I _promise_ you it is. Just, listen… tell me what these men looked like. I'm going to report them, make sure they're removed."

For a few, long moments, he was silent, turning from her.

And then finally he did as she asked, describing to her in detail what the men looked like, his voice low as he did, her having to lean close to hear him.

They must have been night workers, because she didn't recognize them from his description. She was just going to have to repeat it to the Warden.

"Jeannie…?" She heard him say her name. "They… they've been telling me things… a-about myself. Saying I've… I-I-I've done things, t-terrible things…"

Oh Christ, here it came. She'd been a fool to think she could shield him from it, keep the truth from him for so long. But even still, she had no idea how she was going to make him understand.

"Th-t-they say I've… I-I've k-killed people Jeannie, that I've… I-I've hurt them…"

And she couldn't even look at him now, her eyes casting down.

"But I… I d-don't remember, I don't reme-member doing any of the th-things they say I did…"

He was looking at her with desperate and confused eyes.

"Jeannie, I d-didn't do those things, did I…? I d-didn't?"

She felt the anxiety rising up in her, almost paralyzing her. She had no idea how to answer him, no idea what to do.

"Jack, I…"

"Ma'me, _please_…" She was cut short. "Remove your hands from the patient!"

She looked up, seeing the same nurse from before reentering the room, followed closely by the asylums staff medical physician.

"We won't be held responsible for any injury incurred because you failed to comply with the rules." The woman went on as the two of them came nearer.

Jeannie was really starting to hate this woman.

"When did he regain consciousness?" The Doctor asked as he moved in. And Jeannie noticed how Jack watched them with wide, uncertain eyes.

"About 5:25 Sir." The nurse answered.

Failing to even acknowledge Jeannie, the Doctor began examining Jack, repeating what the nurse had earlier, checking his eyes before moving to his bandaged torso.

The nurse eyed her.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to leave now ma'me." She said flatly after a moment.

"Why?" Jeannie immediately snapped, feeling hugely uncomfortable.

And Jack looked to her, his eyes clearly pleading with her to stay.

"Visiting hours are over." The nurse replied. "You can come back on Monday."

"But…" Jeannie looked down to her watch. "I don't understand. It's only 5:35. Visiting hours go until 6:30."

"This is a special circumstance." The nurse said dryly. "Patients in the infirmary aren't even supposed to be allowed visitors, especially high risk patients."

"H-high risk?" Jack started, his voice filled with confusion. "Jeannie? W-what is she talking about?"

Jeannie's brow furrowed in annoyance as she watched the nurse role her eyes before turning away. The Doctor had his stethoscope to Jack's chest and was listening to his heartbeat.

"It's nothing." She told him, even knowing Jack would realize that wasn't so.

And the look on his face told her just that.

"Jeannie…"

"_Ma'me_!" The nurse again barked, cutting him off. "Please, unless you'd like me to call security to escort you out, I suggest you leave now."

She sighed in exasperation.

"Fine! I'm going!" She snapped back.

"Jeannie, please…" Jack pleaded, and her face twisted with pain at the desperation in his voice.

"I have to go." She said softly to him. "I'm sorry. I have to. They're going to throw me out."

She stood, her resolve nearly breaking when she saw the look on his face.

"I'll be back Monday. I promise I will."

He said nothing, only continuing to stare at her, and it nearly shattered her heart then, having to pull away, having to turn and walk from the room.

She prayed to God, if there even was one, that he protect Jack. And tears stung at the back of her eyes as she realized it was because _she_ couldn't.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24:**

_Today had been a half day at school, to the student's surprise. Apparently, there'd been a burst water pipe, partially flooding the buildings lower levels, and they'd had to send everyone home._

_It was rare for things like this to happen. Jack's final class of the day was just across from Jeannie's own. But it was only noon now, and during that time, they weren't even on the same floor._

_Usually he would walk her home before catching the subway back to his apartment in the Narrows._

_Jeannie had told him, when things like this happened, he should go straight to the front of the school and wait for her outside, on the front steps. She'd told him not to go to his locker by himself. A lot of the time, when Jack walked the school halls without her, other students would harass him, push him in to lockers, trip him, knock his books out of his hands. When Jeannie was with him, they more or less left him alone. _

_He'd gone to his locker once by himself and a football player named Marcus had come up behind him while he was putting his things in, grabbed him by the back of the head and rammed him face first in to the locker's metal door. Blood had exploded from Jack's nose and he'd collapsed immediately to the floor. Marcus and a bunch of other, passing students had stood around him, laughing as he struggled to regain his orientation, calling him a freak and a faggot. Jeannie had shown up only seconds later, pushing through the crowd, bending down, taking hold of him and helping him back to his feet. She's used her own shirt sleeve to help stop the flow of blood from his nose before turning angrily towards the students and letting fly a string of expletives, elbowing them aside as she led Jack away. _

_So she'd told him she didn't want him to ever go to his locker by himself again, and he hadn't._

_And it was okay today. He had all of the books he needed at home, since the rest of his classes had been canceled, and there would no homework from them tonight._

_The sun was warm, pleasant, the air not too weighed down by humidity, like was often the case in Gotham. And Jack closed his eyes as he waited on the schools front steps, letting the heat wash over him. It felt good against his skin. There was something about sunlight, something about it that made everything seem like it moved in a dream, a good dream, not like the ones he always had. The ones where he would wake up screaming. His father would get really angry whenever it would happen. Sometimes he'd hit him for it. Jack's brow furrowed, trying to push the thoughts from his mind. He didn't want to worry about that now. He just wanted to feel the sun on his face, and against his back._

"_Jack…" his eyes opened, and there was Jeannie, standing in front of him, smiling._

_His own lips pulled in to a smile, that familiar feeling of relief washing through him at the sight of her. It was like… like the warmth of that sunlight, only inside. Like he could feel it _inside_. Relaxing him, slowing everything down, in to something without hard edges, without pain…_

"_Hey baby." She said, reaching out and grabbing hold of his hand._

_And now the warmth fluttered, danced about, giving him a sort of tingling sensation. Almost… almost like being tickled. _

"_Hi." He said back softly._

"_How's your day been?" She asked._

_He and Jeannie had four classes together. The rest of the day they were separated, except during lunch. _

_He gave a vague nod._

"_Okay." He answered._

"_Nobody did anything to you, did they?" She asked, looking at him seriously._

_And he shook his head._

"_Nobody hurt you?" She pushed._

_Another shake of the head._

_She sighed in relief, smiling again._

"_Well it sounds like it was better then _mine_." She rolled her eyes. "Stupid Jimmy Hine wouldn't stop throwing spit balls at me today during creative writing. I swear, that idiot's only taking the class for the credits. He can't write to save his life."_

_Jack's expression fell, and he looked at her with heavy concern._

"_He… he can't do that." He said, his voice slightly trembling. "I… I'll tell him he can't. I'll tell him."_

_Jeannie's own expression had morphed in to alarm, and she reached out, taking Jack's other hand._

"_Nooo. No, no, no sweetie, it's okay. It's okay. Calm down." She said. "It's alright."_

"_But he can't Jeannie. He can't do that to you. I won't let him"_

"_It's _okay_ baby." She said more urgently now, seeing him get worked up. "It's okay. The teacher already gave him a warning and he stopped. You don't have to do anything."_

_He looked at her with unconvinced eyes._

"_A... are you sure?" He asked, and she nodded._

"_Totally sure." She said quickly._

_Jimmy Hine was another "jock", a stupid baseball player. He was huge too, and mean. _

_He would have hurt Jack badly if Jack even _looked_ at him in a way he didn't like._

_And Jack was too brave for his own good. He wouldn't have cared that Jimmy was just as tall as him and three times as thick, three times as strong. He wouldn't care that Jimmy had beat him up before. He would have told him to stop picking on Jeannie anyway. And then Jimmy would have hurt him, again._

_Jeannie hadn't meant to give him the idea that she wanted him to help her. She was just venting because she was annoyed. It hadn't been a big deal. But Jack didn't like it at all when anyone did anything mean to her. _

_Still, he didn't look convinced, so Jeannie decided to change the subject._

"_So," she began. "we've got the whole rest of the day to ourselves!" She gave his hands a gentle squeeze._

_That seemed to do the trick, a small smile appearing on Jack's face at the thought._

_He wished they had the whole rest of the day to themselves all the time. Usually it was just their classes, lunch, seeing her in the hall and then getting to walk her home._

"_You wanna go to the park?" She asked excitedly._

_And his smile grew. He nodded._

"_Do you need to go to your locker?"_

_He shook his head._

"_Okay!" She smiled back. "Let's go then!"_

_/_

_Robinson Park was only about three blocks from the school. _

_It was always an experience for Jack, to walk the upper east side of downtown Gotham. He would often walk with his head held way back, staring up at the towering skyscrapers, dizzying in their height. Jeannie would laugh and hold on to him, make sure he didn't bump in to anybody because he was so taken with his surroundings. _

_There weren't any buildings like this in the Narrows, nothing above four stories, really. Even that was unusual. _

_And everything here was so smooth and beautiful, towers made of metal and glass, the sun reflecting off of them; shining. Like… like a beacon of hope, Jack thought. Chasing away the darkness which seemed to purvey the rest of the city. Like where he lived. Where he lived, the buildings were all broken down and decrepit. There weren't any successful looking men and woman, like here, dressed stylishly or carrying briefcases and expensive handbags, looking like they had somewhere important to be. Where he lived, it always seemed dark, the sky always seemed like it had clouds in it, chocking out the light, and the people looked lost, they looked sad. _

_Jack's favorite building was Wayne Towers. It was incredible looking, he thought, shooting up past even the rest of the skyscrapers around it, massive, floor to ceiling windows adorning every inch of its façade. Jack always liked to stop in front of it and just watch the happenings on the main, first floor lobby, watch all the people that would come in and out of the building, the receptionist who _always_ seemed to be on the phone. One time even they'd seen Bruce Wayne, accompanied by a middle aged gentleman who they assumed was his chauffer or personal assistant. Jeannie had spotted him first, and quickly gotten Jack's attention, grabbing hold of his arm._

"_Look!" She'd said. "Over there. That's Bruce Wayne. Heir to the entire Wayne fortune!" _

_Jack had stared in awe at the boy. He was young. Couldn't have been older then eleven or twelve, but already he looked special. Extremely handsome, even at that age. He wasn't smiling but, Jack thought, he looked like he was sure of himself. Like he knew exactly what he was, and that he wasn't going to take any grief from anyone. He looked strong, not just physically, though there was that. Jack was sure the boy would have no problem handling the likes of him, though that really wasn't saying much. But, Jack guessed, mentally strong too. Something about the expression on his face. _

_He remembered wishing he could be like that. But he'd realized quickly he couldn't. He wasn't special. He wasn't anything, and his father always told him he shouldn't get ideas about being something he wasn't, that he shouldn't pretend or fantasize. So he'd tried to dismiss the thought as fast as possible._

"_Poor kid." Jeannie had whispered. "You heard about what happened to his parents a few years ago?"_

_And Jack had nodded. He'd only heard brief details, from other people gossiping. He remembered his father laughing about it, saying something about those rich snobs getting what they deserved. Jack hadn't understood why he would say that. He'd wondered if the Wayne's had done something to him, something bad, because he couldn't understand why his Dad would be happy about it otherwise._

_He'd never read any of the articles on it or watched any of the news programs. Something about it didn't seem right to him. Like it wasn't his place to pry in to such a private, terrible thing._

_Bruce Wayne had been on the street for only a few, fleeting seconds before he disappeared in to the building and was whisked away, on to an elevator. _

_But Jack still thought about how extraordinary looking the boy had been._

_He and Jeannie soon found themselves at the entrance of Robinson Park. There were a few kids from their school, out on one of the open patches of grass, tossing footballs and Frisbees. _

_Jeannie took his hand, pulling him down one of the paths which shot off to the right from the parks entrance, leading to a more secluded area, surrounded by trees and thick foliage. _

_As soon as they were out of sight, she grabbed him and turned him, pressing her lips to his._

_His eyes closed, and he kissed her back, his arms coming up and wrapping round her shoulders. _

_Her lips were warm and soft, and tasted like what he imagined a flower might, if he ate one. Sweet, but not overly so. He leaned slightly in to her, forgetting the world outside._

_And then she pulled back, smiling up at him, her hands moving to his chest._

"_Tag." Her smile grew to a grin. "You're it!"_

_And she ducked away, underneath his arms, bounding backwards a few steps and giggling._

_Jack's own lips pulled up._

_She was so beautiful. The most beautiful person, he thought. How someone like him could have ended up with her in his life… he didn't know. He didn't want to know. It never made sense, when he thought about it too much. And that scared him. So he tried not to._

_Jeannie watched him expectantly, anticipating him to come at her, excitement building in her stomach._

_He took a step forward, and she stepped back, still laughing, getting ready to run._

_He motioned towards her again, and that's all it took. She bolted, her laughter rising even higher as she darted in to one of the park's small mazes. _

_He wouldn't come after her hard, she knew. He'd let her get away and hide, like he always did._

_She hadn't heard any footsteps behind as she ducked in to alcove, hunkering down and waiting, struggling to suppress her giggles, her hand over her mouth._

_When over a minute past without indication that he'd followed, she poked her head out, peering to the side. A second later, and she saw him coming round the same corner she'd turned._

_For a moment, she thought she saw his face twist in what looked like pain, but he was a good ten meters away, and it was hard to tell. And the expression seemed to go just as quickly then, and now he was headed towards her._

_She leaned back, sinking low, still laughing. She would wait for him to pass and then jump out behind him._

_It seemed it was taking him a long while to reach her, and she wondered briefly if he wasn't trying to play a trick, get her to reveal herself and then resume the chase. Though that didn't seem like Jack at all. In all the years she'd known him, he'd never been even _playfully_ deceptive, never played even a practical joke on her. _

_But that was Jack's honesty showing itself. She didn't think he really even understood _how _to lie, how to trick or manipulate. Almost like it was a concept he couldn't grasp, unable to comprehend the reason for why anyone would ever do it. The closest he'd ever come to lying to her was when he would clam up about what went on with him at home. And even that wasn't really lying. More just him not wanting to talk about it. If she ever asked him a direct question, even if he was afraid or ashamed to speak about it, if she pushed him enough, he would always tell her._

_Still, it seemed to her he was taking _too_ long, and she was about to take a look when she saw him, half-walk, half-jog past, and now she was sure she could see an indistinct limp in his stride, and her brow furrowed in concern._

_She stood, stepping out of the alcove, her feet crunching the gravel underneath, and he turned._

_He seemed to be breathing hard, his chest rising and falling somewhat rapidly. But he was smiling at her now, his eyes alight._

"_There you are!" He exclaimed._

_And Jeannie smiled back._

_Maybe she was just worrying too much. She was always so afraid for Jack, always so afraid something bad was going to happen to him, that she thought sometimes she saw things which weren't actually there with him._

"_And you _still _haven't caught me!" She said back, her hands held triumphantly at her hips._

"_You're fast." He laughed softly._

_She smiled back._

"_I am that." She agreed, nodding._

_He motioned forward and she yelped in excitement, bolting. And he pursued._

_Eventually, after a while, he did catch her, and they both stood, Jeannie leaning against him as she doubled over in mirth, tears streaming from her eyes. And he just smiled, bent slightly forward, his arm wrapped round her shoulders._

_As finally she was able to rein her laughter in, she again noticed Jack's breathing seemed labored, noticed him bending forward with one hand on his knee. Jack always had such phenomenal endurance, always seemed able to just go and go without ever getting tired. But still, he was smiling, and once more she told herself she shouldn't be so worried. Her and Jack got to spend too little time together as was, and she didn't want to dampen his obviously good mood by saying anything negative. _

_Jack had so few positive experiences… she wasn't about to ruin this one for him._

_Finally he straightened, looking down at her, his lips pulling in to a grin, and she couldn't help herself from grinning now either._

_Jack's smile was infectious, his whole face seeming to light up with it._

_He would only ever smile when he was happy… really happy. And it showed, a certain look in his eyes which told you it was completely genuine. _

_Jeannie wished she could see it happen more._

"_Can we play hide and seek?" He asked, and she felt her heart flutter at how sweet he was, at the total innocence in his voice. It was almost painful for her, to watch him sometimes, because in that innocence, he seemed so completely vulnerable, unwise to the ways of the world. _

_He was utterly brilliant, but in many ways too he was so _simple_, and completely without pretension. There were no airs about him, nothing braggadocios or proud. And in his simplicity, there was no shame. He didn't pretend not to like something just because it would be deemed "un-cool" or stupid. He didn't pretend to be anything he _wasn't_. He'd been made fun of plenty of times for the way he dressed, the way he spoke, even for his lack of knowledge regarding things like popular culture. And Jeannie knew, if he'd asked anyone else if they could play a game of hide and seek, they would have looked at him as though there were something wrong with him, or laughed right in his face. But they were the ones denying themselves, she thought. Because who the hell _didn't_ like games like hide and seek? It was _fun_. Those other people, they were just too uptight, too concerned with fitting in and looking cool to ever allow themselves the pleasure of something so pure and simple. But not her, and she had Jack to thank for that. He'd taught her not to give a damn what other people thought, to do as she felt and liked, not as other people deemed appropriate._

"_Okay!" She said. "You go hide and I'll come and find you!"_

_His smile widened even more._

"_You have'ta count to a hundred!" He said, and she laughed._

"_I promise I'll count to a hundred." Her eyes narrowed. "But you better hurry up, cause I'm starting now!"_

_And then she turned, her back to him, beginning to count, long and slow._

"_Onnnnnnnnne…"_

_Jack gasped._

"_Twwwwwwwwwwooooooo…"_

_He stepped back from her._

"_Threefourfive!" She said quickly, looking back over her shoulder at him._

_And he practically screamed in excitement, dissolving in to a fit of giggles as he turned and ran._

_She laughed, watching him a moment, her smile slowly fading as again she noticed him limping, if only slightly. And her worry returned._

_But no. _

_He was laughing. _

_They were having _fun_. _

_And he was okay. _

_He was okay._

_She turned back, continuing to count, speeding it up after a few seconds, when she could no longer hear him._

_Eventually she reached the count of one hundred, and yelled out…_

"_READY OR NOT, HERE I COME!"_

_Jack had finally settled on hiding behind a giant rose bush, crouching down, holding his hand over his mouth as he tried to suppress his laughter._

_He hoped Jeannie wouldn't find him too fast. _

_She always seemed to find him so quickly._

_He had to bite down on his hand when he heard her turn the corner, calling out…_

"_Come out, come out wherever you arrrre…"_

_She began towards him, and Jack felt a shot of giddiness, his eyes closing as he tried harder not to make a sound. _

_It was different then with his father. His father never played any games with him; no fun games anyway. And he wasn't scared of Jeannie finding him, not like when his father would sometimes come home late at night, and Jack could hear him outside his room, crashing in to things, knocking them over and grumbling to himself. _

_Jack always tried to be dead quiet then. Sometimes he'd hold his breath even, trying to be so quiet. And sometimes he imagined he was so small that no one could see him, not even his Dad. But it didn't usually work. Usually, his father would come in to his room and find him, and it wasn't like when Jeannie found him. It wasn't nice like when she found him. It wasn't fun. _

_It hurt. _

_Once, Jack had even tried hiding in his closet, but that hadn't worked either, and then his Dad had gotten _really _angry. He'd gotten so angry, and it had really hurt bad then._

_So now, when his Dad came home late, drunk, he would just try and stay quiet as possible._

"_Now I wonder where he could be?" Jeannie said in a sing song, wandering past, making a show of looking about._

_And it _was_ just for show._

_She'd spotted Jack easily upon turning the corner, through the gaps in the bushes branches. Jack was always easy to find. He never hid well, for whatever reason. Jeannie had thought before, in an abstract sense, it was almost like a reflection of Jack in general. How he never did well in hiding his emotions either. He was an open book, in many ways, and though the saying was cliché, the very definition of someone wearing their heart on their sleeve._

_She continued forward a little ways, pretending as though she didn't know where he was, questioning out loud again his whereabouts. And she heard him giggle._

"_Hmmm…" she smiled, turning back around, heading towards the bush. _

_She stopped in front of it, her hands on her hips, her back to him as she looked left, then right._

"_Where could he beeeee?" She asked again._

_And again she heard him laugh quietly, obviously trying not to._

"_Could he beeee…" she turned suddenly, looking over the edge of the shrub. "HERE!" She shouted, and Jack yelped loudly, falling backward, laughing._

_Jeannie bounded around the bush, falling on to his knees next to him, reaching out and tickling him under the arms. And his laughter grew uncontrollable, gasping for breath in between, rolling on to his side in a half-hearted attempt to get away. But she just followed him, continuing to attack him playfully._

_And for several minutes, it kept up, until they both were exhausted, and they were just lying there together, in the grass, side by side, their chests deeply rising and falling._

_Jack stared up at the blue sky, his eyes squinting against its brightness. The few clouds there billowed and made shapes in his mind. He imagined them coming to life, forming in to his favorite cartoon characters and chasing each other around. _

_He smiled._

_He could feel Jeannie next to him, and he felt safe._

_Her head turned, looking at him a long moment before she propped herself up on an elbow, facing him, stroking her fingers gently through his hair, over his scalp and to the back of his head. His eyes closed at the sensation and she bent down, kissing him softly. _

_He wished he could stay like this always, with her._

"_Come on." She whispered against his ear after a few moments, sliding her hand in to his. His eyes opened and he looked at her. She was smiling. "I wanna show you something."_

_She began to stand, pulling him up with her._

"_You're gonna love this." She said, taking him by the hand, leading him out of the maze and down a pathway. _

_On either side of them were flower beds, each bursting with an array of different colors. _

_Jack felt himself transfixed by the hues, by the patterns they seemed to make, all swirling together. He could pick out distinct shapes in each, faces and forms and different objects. _

_Shading the path were trees, tall, creating a feeling of isolation from the outside, protecting the walkway from the bright, afternoon sun._

_They were alone here, together._

"_Come on Jack!" He heard her say. She began to walk more quickly, pulling him along, and he looked up from the flower beds, now mesmerized by the way her shoulder length hair seemed to move and sway with each stride. Jeannie had beautiful hair, he thought. The color of rye. _

_Soon they found themselves in a nook, created by a thicket of brush and trees, and he looked around in fascination, eyes wide with the beauty of the place, and the seclusion. Jack had never been here before. He'd never been to the park at all, except for with Jeannie, and that had only ever been a few times. His father wouldn't ever allow it, never letting him anywhere really, except for school. And he was always told to come straight home afterwards. _

_But his father didn't get off work until, at the earliest 5:30, usually 6:00, and whenever Jeannie asked him to stay, he could never say no. He wanted to stay with her. During summer he could stay with her more, because his father would go with his friends on camping trips, leaving Jack behind for a week, sometimes two. And he would see Jeannie a lot then, taking the subway to downtown Gotham, where she would meet him. A few times even, Jack had stayed the night at her house, when her own parents were off on vacation. Her house was big, beautifully constructed and decorated. Those times, Jack thought, were the best of his life._

_It was spring now, and Jack was looking very much forward to the coming months, when he and Jeannie could be together more, and maybe even he could stay the night at her house again._

_The last time he had, they'd made love. The fourth time they'd done so. Jack had been thinking of it, but had been too shy to ask. But Jeannie had seemed to know… She always seemed to know, and she'd brought him to her bedroom, and it had been wonderful._

_Now she was pulling him down on to the grass with her, her hands moving to his shoulders, pushing him gently on to his back._

_He looked up at her as she hovered above him, reaching up and stroking his fingers through her hair. _

_She smiled, bending down and kissing him._

_He felt his stomach flip-flop, like it always did whenever she touched him like this._

_Both his hands came up now, massaging his fingers in to her hair, gently across her scalp. She'd told him she liked the way that felt. And the kiss deepened. When he felt her tongue prodding his lips, he knew that meant she wanted him to open his mouth. So he did, and the sensations in his stomach grew stronger as her tongue moved over his own._

_She shifted, her knee coming up between his legs, nudging them gently apart. _

_He couldn't help the small gasp which escaped his throat as she pressed her knee against him, the sensations in his stomach now growing warm. She bent down further, her hands resting first on his shoulders, moving down to his chest. And she began to unbutton his shirt._

"… _Can I…?" He asked breathlessly as she broke away a moment to concentrate, his hands moving to the hem of her own shirt, a simple tank top. She nodded. _

_And he lifted it over her head, down her arms before she continued with unbuttoning his._

_It wasn't long before she had it all the way open, un-tucking it from his pants. Again she bent down, pressing her lips to his as her hands slipped beneath his undershirt, smoothing slowly over his stomach and back up to his chest._

_Jack's breath was coming more erratic, his hands on her arms now, running up them and to her back. _

"_Go ahead." She mumbled as his fingers rested at her braw strap, and he struggled to undo it as she continued to kiss him, again leaning in to him with her knee. _

_It felt nice, a quiet moan pushing past his lips, the warmth becoming stronger. _

_Finally he undid the strap, and her braw came sliding down her arms. _

_She leaned back slightly to pull it off all the way, tossing it aside before moving back to him._

"_Here." She said, taking hold of his arms and pulling him up to a seated position, straddling him. _

_She pushed his shirt over his shoulders and off, taking the hem of his undershirt in her hands, beginning to pull it up._

_Her breath caught in her throat as she did, her eyes going wide at the hideous, red and black and blue bruising, capillaries broken under the skin, running from his right side and up, to the center of his chest._

"_Jesus, Jack, what the…" she started, the shock evident in her voice._

_Oh no, he'd forgotten. He'd forgotten about it. _

_Panic took him and he tried pulling the shirt back down, embarrassed._

_But she didn't let him, moving his hands away and lifting it back up._

"_Jack, my God, what _happened_ to you?" She sounded completely alarmed, her eyes scanning over the deep discoloration of his skin. _

_He looked away._

"_Nothing." He mumbled. _

_She moved forward, around him, lifting the shirt more, seeing the damage continue to his lower back, the same red and black and blue, this over more faded bruises, yellow and green. And the lash marks from God only knew what, something heavier then just a belt._

_She could already feel tears at the back of her eyes, her body growing numb with sudden fear._

"_Jack…" she moved back to face him. He turned his head away, his arms coming up and wrapping around himself. "Did _he_ do this to you? Was it that bastard?"_

_He said nothing._

"_Jack, look at me!" She said, reaching out and taking hold of his shoulders. "Did your father _do _this to you?"_

_His eyes closed._

"_Jeannie, please…" he started, his voice almost inaudible. "It's not important."_

"_Not important? Jack, look at me!" She reached up to his head, turning him gently towards her. "Baby, you have to leave him! You _have_ to. This can't go on."_

"_I can't." He said. "I… I told you I can't."_

"_Jack, he's going to _kill_ you! Honey, don't you _understand_? _Please_! Look what he's _done_ to you!"_

_He said nothing, his eyes trained on the ground._

"_Oh God." She cried._

_And she couldn't help her tears now as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close to her._

"_Jack, baby, _please_. You have to leave him. You can come live with me. I'll… I'll make it work somehow. I'll make my parents understand. And it'll only be for a few months. I… I start college in the fall. I'll have my own apartment then. You can live with me there."_

_He didn't move as she held him against her, rocking him gently back and forth._

_She didn't understand. _

_He couldn't leave his father. He couldn't… couldn't make it without him. And his father would never allow it. He'd never allow it._

"_Can't we… c-can't we just…"_

_She pulled back, looking at him._

"_Just f-finish?" He asked, looking lost._

"_Jack, sweetheart…" she said, cupping the side of his face. "We… we should talk about this."_

_His eyes slid away, back to the ground._

"_Please…" he begged quietly. "I… I just want to be with you. Can't I… can't I just…"_

"_Jack?" She pushed her fingers through his short hair._

"_He'll… he'll be home soon, and it's… it's Friday. I won't… won't get to be with you again un… until Monday."_

_She frowned, her brow creasing._

_He continued to look away._

_He just wanted to be with her. He didn't… didn't want to think about _him_. Think about what was going to happen if his father got back to the apartment first._

_He'd been able to… to forget when she was… when she was touching him a minute ago._

"_Oh God, Jack…" again she hugged him close, cradling the back of his head in her hand. _

_She was so scared now. She could feel her heart beating painfully in her chest, loudly in her ears, her breath coming shorter. _

_She couldn't send him back to that monster. Jesus, seeing what he'd done, knowing what he _would_ do. The thought alone made her queasy. Oh God, he was going to kill Jack. He was going to _kill _him. Her sweet, beautiful boy._

_Her arms wrapped tighter around him, her face burying against his shoulder as more tears fell from her eyes and she began to tremble._

_Jack sat motionless, his eyes fixed down, staring blankly._

"_Oh baby, please, _please_…" she begged. "I can't let you go back there. I can't. Please come with me. I'll make my parents understand, I will."_

_He said nothing, remaining still as she squeezed him almost painfully tight now._

_She pulled back finally, frightened by his silence, wiping at the tears streaming down her cheeks._

"_Jack?" She questioned, looking at him._

_Still his gaze was on the ground, and he sat almost limp._

"_Jack, sweetheart? Wh… what is it? Baby, look at me."_

_She reached out, running a hand over his head._

"_Baby?"_

"_H… he'll be back soon." Jack finally spoke, his voice very soft. Still he wouldn't look up at her. "I… I have to go back. I c… can't be late."_

_Jeannie's brow furrowed heavily._

"_Jack, no. No baby. You… you can't! You can't go back there. Sweetie, _please_, listen to me!"_

"_He'll… he'll be really mad if… if I'm late." Jack said. And now he started to stand._

_She reached out, grabbing hold of his wrist._

"_Jack, you _can't_!" She said frantically. "You can't! It isn't safe, it isn't…"_

_He didn't move, didn't try to pull away._

"_I can't walk you home today Jeannie." He said. "I'm… I'm sorry. I can't walk you home today. I… I have to go back. I have to go back. I can't be… c-can't be late."_

_She stared up at him with huge and terrified eyes now. Oh Christ, what was wrong with him? It was like… it was like he wasn't even hearing her._

"_Jack!"_

"_I'm sorry Jeannie. I'm sorry." He just kept saying._

_She stood, grabbing hold of him by the shoulders._

_He was looking down._

"_Jack, I won't let you!" She said. "I won't let you go back there!"_

_He said nothing._

_Now he was really starting to freak her out._

"_Jack, look at me!" And she gave him a small shake. "Look at me damn it!" Her voice rose slightly._

_He did, his face lined in pain. _

"_Jack, I won't let you go back to that son of a bitch! He's… he's going to keep hurting you! And he's…" she had to pause, her voice catching in her throat as tears continued to form in her eyes. "He's going to go too far. He's going to…" She couldn't finish, her dread overtaking her._

"_Please Jeannie…" Jack whispered. "He… he'll be really mad if I'm late."_

_Oh Christ, somebody…_

"_Jack, what… what's wrong? Don't you hear me? Don't you hear what I'm saying?" Her voice was in a panic now, her hands squeezing his shoulders tight._

_Several seconds past, and he remained silent, still looking down, and she thought again he wasn't going to respond. But then he said, in a voice barely audible…_

"_I want to stay with you."_

_Her face crumpled in pain._

"_Then _do_ Jack!" She implored. "Stay with me. Come with me back to my house. We can…"_

_She trailed off as his head shook._

"_I can't." He breathed. "I can't."_

"_Why _not _Jack?" Jeannie cried. "Why can't you?"_

_But he couldn't tell her. Couldn't tell her he had no chance without his father, had no way of making it. He needed him, needed him to make it. His father had told him so. He'd told him so._

_He felt ashamed, humiliated by his own uselessness. _

"_Please Jeannie…" he again begged. "I… I have to go back. He'll be so mad."_

_And he began to bend, reaching for his shirt, taking up her braw too._

_She continued to hold on to him._

"_Jack, no, please…"_

_He just stood, quiet, the articles of clothing hanging from his hands, eyes down. _

_Her hands began to slip from his shoulders, seeing him not responding, like he couldn't… like he didn't know how. And it felt like the air had been ripped from her lungs._

"_Jack…?" Her voice was as soft as his now, desperate._

_Silence between them._

"…_I'm sorry." He finally said, eyes still away, holding her braw out to her. "I'm sorry, I ha… I have to go now." _

_A moment past, him not moving, arm held forward. _

_Slowly she reached out, taking the braw from him. _

_And she could only watch then as he moved past her, putting his shirt back on, his head down, walking away… away from her. _

_She couldn't protect him._

_And oh God, Jesus, God, he needed protecting. _

_Her beautiful, sweet boy, he needed protecting so much._

_And there was nothing she could do._

_He disappeared from her sight. Her eyes became blinded with tears, a terrible sob rising up in her throat, tearing from her lips._

_She turned, covering her face with her hands._

_She couldn't protect him._

_And he needed protecting so much._

/

He couldn't remember when this had happened. Didn't recall the orderlies coming in, didn't recall them laying in to him with so harsh a beating.

Usually, that was the sort of thing one tended to remember.

Well, it wasn't as though it were unusual for him. He suffered so many physical beatings, they at times would just blend together, all as one. And his memory… his memory wasn't the most reliable. Even he would admit to that.

But usually he retained some remnant of it at least, some impression.

He only ever didn't when he blacked out.

Which, very obviously, he had.

And that made him angry .

He had no idea what happened to him during these blackout periods, which in itself didn't really bother him. No one was ever, _fully_ in control, after all. And anyone who thought so was a fool.

No, what bothered him was… he had an inkling that, whatever it was, it emboldened the orderlies, made them feel safe and confident in their attack. And no one… no one was ever safe, and most certainly, confidence wasn't something one should feel when engaging the _Joker_.

Even Batman fell shy of that particular accomplishment.

So they would be back, thinking him in the same condition as the last time they'd come, whatever condition that was, and he'd have a nice, little surprise waiting for them then.

He was growing tired of this place again. Tired of the routine, of the confinement…

Tired of _her_.

She kept coming, every day that allowed it, sitting and talking to him, making him _feel_ things he didn't want to feel!

Dream emotions he knew he didn't have.

His father… his father. He couldn't stop thinking of the man now. Couldn't get him from his mind.

And it was all because of _her_.

The last thing he recalled, before he'd woken up three weeks ago, back in his cell, done up in bandages and clearly within the grip of pain medication, was that dream.

And God it had seemed so real.

The things he'd felt had seemed so _real_.

He couldn't remember a time when he'd wanted so _badly_ to _hurt _anyone. It was usually the case he was only looking for a kind of entertainment, usually his method of drawing out the Bat, since the Bat was so rigidly uptight about that kind of thing. _Hurting_ people.

He'd wanted to hurt _her_ the last time he saw her. He'd wanted to.

But this was a different kind of desire. It ached, deep down inside him. It was actually painful.

And worse still, he knew, logically… logically there was nothing he could do to relieve it.

His father was dead.

The bastard.

It wasn't _fair_.

He was dead, and _he_ hadn't been the one to make it so.

He deserved that much, didn't he? Shouldn't he have been allowed to give the man a taste of the torture he'd been subjected to? As a boy? As a weak, pitiful, pathetic little boy?

He wanted to show his father how weak and pitiful he was _now_!

He wanted it so much.

More then he could remember ever having wanted anything.

So much he felt he was losing his mind within these walls.

And he needed to get out; get out as soon as possible.

He heard the electronic lock on his cell beep loud, and immediately, his head snapped towards the door.

Perfect timing.

Four men entered, their faces smug, assured as they took him in, his own expression flat, unmoving.

He would be sure to wipe the look from them quickly.

"Hey there, Joker." One of them started, and he looked to the orderly. "Look's like you're healin' up pretty good there."

He said nothing.

"Good enough to survive another round, don't ya think?"

The other men were all grinning, and the Joker's eyes moved over each of them, regarding them carefully.

Still he said nothing.

"What'sa matter Joker? Got nothin' to say today? No beggin' us to stop this time?"

The Joker looked back to him.

"_Begging_?" He questioned.

The orderly laughed.

"Oh, don't act like you don't remember clown boy." He said. "You were beggin' and cryin' like a little bitch last time we was in here."

The Joker stared at him hard for a long moment, silent. He had no idea what the buffoon was talking about. Nor did he care. Whatever had happened, it didn't matter. All that mattered was playing off it, using it to his advantage.

He smirked.

"Huh." He started. "And so sure you are of the displays authenticity?"

Quickly the men's faces grew confused.

First point accomplished, the Joker thought.

"What the hell are ya talkin' about?" The first man spit. "Don't play dumb with us. You were wussin' out on us."

"Oh, I'm not playing dumb, dear boy…" the Joker answered fast. "I'm simply wondering at your certainty of the displays authenticity. You seem _quite _certain. But I think it's rather a foolish thing. How do you know it wasn't merely a performance, given with the intent of drawing you back, more greatly prepared for such a visit? I am, after all, such a fine actor."

The first man blinked.

"Speak English you fuckin' fag."

And the Joker laughed.

"Such _wit _you have…" he looked to the orderlies nametag. "Steven. Wherever did you learn it from?"

The uncertainty was evident on their faces now.

"… You weren't fakin' it." One of the others said. "You weren't."

"Oh no?" The Joker raised a brow. "Are… are you sure?"

And suddenly his face broke, his brow furrowing heavily, deep lines appearing along his forehead, like the mask of tragedy. In an instant, tears had sprung to his eyes and then fallen, streaking down his cheeks.

"Pa-p-please… d-don't. S-s-stop, p-please, I b-b-beg you." He cried, and it couldn't have sounded more genuine. "P-please don't… d-don't hit me any m-more."

Then just as instantly as the show of emotion had come, it went, the tears cutting off quick, the Joker's lips pulling in to a wide grin. Gone was any of the agony which had just a moment ago adorned his features, and now his eyes shined with malicious intent.

"So come along boys." He said. "How _sure_ are you?"

The look on their faces told him they weren't sure at all. Not anymore.

Now they were nervous.

The Joker laughed.

"Now, now, where is the courage you lay claim to?" He asked. "Are you really so easily dissuaded?"

The first man's face twisted in anger.

"Shut up freak!" He spit, and the Joker only laughed harder.

"Why don't you… _make_ me?"

And for a moment, the orderlies just stood there, staring at them, and he could see they were afraid.

Just as he wanted them.

Fear made you careless, made you vulnerable.

"Tell me again…" the Joker went on when they remained silent. "Who's the _faggot_?"

And that's all it took.

The first orderly lunged forward, hand coming down to strike the Joker.

Mistake.

The Joker caught his wrist mid swing, and in one, swift, nearly indiscernible move, snapped it back, breaking the bone easily.

The orderly cried out, the sound strangled and desperate, before quickly crumpling to the floor.

The others looked on, bemused, as if unsure of what they were seeing, and in their moment of hesitation, the Joker reached down, pulling the first man's nightstick from his belt, pushing himself from the cot and cracking the thick plastic hard against the already downed orderly's jaw, laying him on his back.

The three remaining stumbled back, shocked at the sudden development, and the terror was now obvious in their eyes.

The Joker leered at them.

"Well now it's all… _even steven's_, isn't it boys?" He said, stepping towards them, and they inadvertently stepped back. "Well, three against one, maybe not _quite_. But really, I'm used to just that sort of thing."

Again he stepped forward.

"So come on fella's…" his grin widened. "Let's have it."

They only stood there dumbly, staring wide eyed, and he didn't wait a moment longer, crossing the distance between them.

They then scrambled, falling away, the first man he reached throwing his arm up defensively. But it was too late.

The Joker reached out, burying is fingers in the man's shirt and jerking him forward, a high pitched yelp escaping the orderly's throat before he was raked across the temple with the billy. And almost instantly he fell unconscious.

The remaining two stood frozen a moment, paralyzed with their own fear, before it suddenly occurred to them what was happening, and they snapped in to action, coming at the Joker both with clubs raised.

But the Joker was ready for them, ducking easily under the first swing, swiftly jamming the end of his own club in to the orderly's knee and stepping aside, just barely avoiding an attack by the other man.

And as that man was stumbling forward with the momentum of his missed swing, the other was doubled over at the numbing pain now radiating through his leg, and the Joker didn't hesitate, fisting his hand in the orderly's hair, pushing his face down in to his upcoming knee. Instantly the man's nose broke, exploding with blood and the Joker pushed him away, letting him crumple to the ground on his own before turning quickly, just in time to again duck under the second man's attack.

"Heee, naughty, naughty…" He chuckled, waving a disapproving finger.

The man had only a moment to stare before suddenly the Joker had lunged at him, and very quickly, the orderly found himself being pushed violently against the wall.

He struggled, trying to push the Joker off, but he was overpowered, the Joker reaching for his wrist, pushing down on the joints pressure point, instantly making the orderly drop his billy.

And now the Joker jammed his forearm painfully against the man's throat, leaning in close and whispering in to his ear…

"I should kill you."

The orderly gasped, feeling his lungs restrict, fighting weakly against the Joker's hold.

"Pa-p-please… d-d-don't…" He sputtered.

And the Joker's entire expression fell, his lips pulling in to a severe frown.

"_Hypocrite_!" He hissed angrily, pressing down harder. "You _entreat _my mercy when you were unwilling to grant me the _same_?"

The orderly's eyes were wide with horror.

"N-n-no pah-pa-please… y-you don't u-u-underst-stand…"

"I _understand _so much more then you _ever_ will." The Joker spit. "More about _you_ then you do _yourself_."

"Pa-please, I w-was… I wa-as just f-following o-o-orders…" The man whimpered.

"_Orders_?" The Joker seethed. "And from where do these _orders_ derive? Is it… _state _policy to beat institutionalized mental patients? Or was it the command of your own desire? To take out your own, _pathetic_ inadequacy on one _superior_ to yourself?"

The orderly whined against the pressure on his throat, a kind of sad, mewing noise.

"P-please… I… I-I'm s-s-sorry…"

The Joker regarded him a long moment then, and he couldn't understand why he felt so suddenly angry, why he felt anything at all towards these men.

He'd never cared before. He'd never been filled with the kind of… of indignation and feeling of… of _violation_ he now was.

They'd beaten him, and what else was new. It wasn't as though it hadn't happened before.

But everything… everything was so _confused_ now.

He could hear the man choking, spitting and sputtering as his larynx began to crush.

He could so easily kill the idiot. Erase his meaningless, stupid existence from the face of the Earth. He could feel his fingers twitching with the desire to do so.

But… but something was stopping him. And he realized with mild dread he was _hesitating_,because… because… he didn't _know_ why because! But it was _there_!

This had never happened to him. He'd never felt anything, one way or the other when taking a life. It was an act as insignificant as the killing of a fly. So _why_ the hell was he hesitating? Why did he feel so suddenly… _unsure_?

The doubt angered him. Doubt wasn't something he was at all accustomed to, wasn't something he even _knew_.

He raged at it, a feral sort of growl tearing from his throat as he dropped his club and buried his hand in the orderly's hair, pulling his head from the wall and smashing it back, hard enough to knock the man cold.

He slumped forward in the Joker's hands, and the Joker let him drop, staring at the unmoving form for several, long seconds, just staring, still, a million thoughts swirling through his mind, a million emotions.

He blinked, and felt something wet trail down his cheek.

Reaching up, he wiped the back of his hand along his face, pulling it away and staring in bemusement at the moisture on his skin.

Tears?

He shook his head, dragging his hands violently across his eyes.

Damn it!

What the hell was _happening_ to him?

In a flash of disgust, he laid his foot deep in to the unconscious orderly's stomach, and the man responded with only a barely audible groan.

The Joker turned quickly from him, observing the other three men, all rendered the same.

He had to get out of here. He had to _leave_.

He couldn't be here, couldn't _stand_ to be here another moment.

He moved forward, swiftly, bending and taking up the dropped billy before crouching and removing a set of card keys from one of the orderly's belts.

Moving for the cells door, he glanced back at the men one last time, confusion consuming him at his own reluctance, his mouth pulled in to a deep frown, his brow heavily furrowed.

Again he shook his head, as if trying to free himself from some unwanted thought.

"Have fun boys." He mumbled, pulling the heavy door open, stepping out in to the corridor, closing and locking it behind him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Hey guys, long chapter for you here. Once again, huge thanks goes out to my beta TheMadCapLaughs for all her extraordinary help.**

**I just wanted to mention something real quick, because I've been noticing a few critiques lately regarding Jack's character, people not really liking how weak he appears, etc…**

**The thing with Jack is this. He's **_**supposed**_** to be extremely damaged, as in, not mentally well, even before becoming the Joker. I figure in order to give way to someone like the Joker, you'd have to start with an unstable base. So Jack's supposed to be screwed up, he's supposed to be damaged and addled by issues. Underneath all of his problems though, he's really an incredibly good person, which Jeannie was able to see and that's what made her essentially fall in love with him. And it was around Jeannie, before, Jack was able to more or less be alright. **

**But I just want the readers to remember, he isn't supposed to be okay, he isn't supposed to be healthy even. He's incredibly screwed up and I've written him that way on purpose. My intent isn't for the reader to hate him or to think him pathetic. Jack's a character who's suffered a great deal, a character who was emotionally and mentally abused to an extreme degree, and as a result of that, he's very unsure of himself, he has no real self-confidence. And the reason he's so frightened in the present scenarios is because, well, he's in Arkham Asylum, the worst mental hospital in the world probably, with some of the most dangerous patients and meanest orderlies and guard's, and he's in there without even knowing why. He's extremely confused and lost, and frankly, if someone didn't find that situation terrifying, I'd think there's something wrong with them, lol. But he isn't a wimp. Truthfully, my intention is to show, even though he's suffered through hell, the fact he remained a good person for so long, despite that, and the fact he retained an idealistic sense of the world for so long, proves him to be the opposite of a wimp, it makes him extremely strong.**

**But anyway, yeah, sorry for the long explanation, just thought I should address some of the critiques. I wasn't able to respond in private because the reviews were left without the person signing in. So, just know, Jack's SUPPOSED to be screwed up, haha. He isn't healthy, and that, eventually, gave way to what he would become.**

**Anyway, enough of that, here's the chapter and I hope you enjoy!**

**Don't forget to leave reviews!**

**Chapter 25:**

Getting out had been easy. There was an endless array of passages and exit ways to choose from. Places he'd discovered over the years, many of which the staff there didn't even know about. It was often times, as a matter of pride, he would leave using the front exit, which made the task infinitely more difficult, but something he found all the more fun.

But not this time. This time, he'd just wanted to get out - _needed_ to get out - and quickly. So he'd taken to the asylum's lowest levels, tracking through the underground sewer system and coming out up top on the street. By the time he'd reached it, the sun had just started to peak up over the horizon, casting the city in a haze of orange, illuminating the usually dark landscape in a surreal light.

But he'd had no interest in any of it. He'd known where he needed to be, and so had begun the walk to the Narrows cemetery, several miles out from where he'd started, using the city's back alleys to keep from view. Those who he came across didn't stick around long, scurrying off in a panic at the sight of him. Under normal circumstances, this would have given him a good laugh. But lately… lately, nothing really seemed very funny.

Late afternoon had come by the time he reached the cemetery.

And meticulously, he walked through the thousands of stones, his eyes scanning carefully but impatiently over each of the names, looking… looking.

He had to _find_ it. He didn't know why. He just knew he _had_ to. The exhaustion his body felt from walking so far and for so long didn't even seem to register and he moved with purpose through row after row. There was scarcely a soul here besides him, save for a woman he'd spotted at one point, several hundred yards away, but she'd remained oblivious to him, too consumed within her own grief to notice. And he'd kept moving.

He'd nearly moved past when he at last found it, more then two hours later, his eyes going to the next stone before it registered in his mind that he'd just seen the name, and they snapped abruptly back.

"Collin Napier," it said. "1950-2001"

He froze, staring hard, unblinking.

The stone was small, flat, made of granite. Unremarkable in every way.

Finally he blinked, and suddenly he recognized the name with as much familiarity as he did his own.

Collin.

It all came back in a rush. How the man had never allowed him to call him Dad, or even father. How he'd demanded he be addressed as Sir. His co-workers had called him Collin. He'd always had to say Sir.

The Joker's lip twisted in sudden disgust.

_Sir_? The term implied gentlemanly qualities; implied _class_. His father had been a _pig_. Uncultured, devoid of charm. How he could have been made to address him as such? The very notion affronted him.

_His father pulled him along by the wrist, nearly dragging him as he refused to slow his pace for his son's eight year old legs, his grip tight and unforgiving, and Jack had to bite his lip to keep from crying out in pain._

_Finally, after two and a half blocks, they arrived in front of a small, almost shake-like structure, the words "O'Reilly's Brick Laying Company" painted sloppily on to a sign above the door. _

_His father stopped, pulling Jack in front of him and looking down at him with mean eyes._

"_Now don't you fuckin' embarrass me Jack." He said harshly. "You do anything to make me look bad and I'll mess your ass up. _Got it_?"_

_Jack nodded, his eyes cast downwards. _

"_Yes Sir." He answered softly._

"_The only reason I'm brining you here is so you can see what the hell it is you're _not_. These here are _real_ men Jack. Something you probably won't understand. And the way things are going, something you'll probably never be. Hey! Look at me!" He reached out, slapping Jack lightly across the cheek, and Jack's eyes lifted to him. His father's mouth twisted in to a frown. "You little faggot. Look at you! So God damned weak…"_

_In shame, Jack's eyes fell back to the ground. _

"_I want you to _learn_ something here Jackie. Watch these boys, and maybe you'll stop acting like such a fuckin' pansy all the time. But you fuck up…" He knelt down, taking hard hold of Jack's thin arms and jerking him forward. "You say or do anything you're not _supposed_ to…" He didn't bother with finishing his sentence, just glaring at his son with cold eyes._

_Jack remained silent, too afraid to speak, and finally, after a moment, his father again stood, once more taking hold of Jack's wrist before opening the small buildings front entrance and pulling him through._

_Jack's ears were accosted by the sound of uproarious laughter, loud and uncontained, and he glanced up briefly to see a group of men, gathered around a small table, all of them roughly equal in size to his father, and very quickly Jack's eyes cast down again, feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly intimidated._

_His father continued to pull him along._

"_Mornin' boys." He said loudly enough to hear over the ruckus, and the other men's laughter cut, turning towards them._

"_Yo Collin!" One of them greeted. "Bout time your lazy ass got here!" And they all laughed together. _

_Jack felt his father's grip tighten on his wrist and again he had to bite his own lip to keep from whimpering. _

"_What can I say boys? I've got a little thing called responsibility."_

"_Yeah, yeah." Another of the men waved a dismissive hand before fixing his eyes on Jack. "Seems like maybe you brought a little of that responsibility with you today, huh Collin?" _

_All the other men seemed to take notice then of their co-workers son, all eyes fixing on the boy who stood with his head down._

_His father licked his lips, giving his son one last squeeze of warning before pulling him forward and pushing him gently in front of him._

"_This is my boy." He said. "Jack. Thought I'd bring him in and show him a little of what his old man does. Say hello Jack." _

_Very quietly, without looking up, Jack muttered a hello._

"_Heh, he's a cute kid Collin!" One of the men, Pete, exclaimed. "Hey there little man!" He continued, leaning over to get a better look at the boy. "How old are you?"_

_Jack remained silent, his shyness taking hold of him._

"_Go on Jackie-boy. Answer him." His father said, his tone not as hard as usual._

_Jack swallowed, his head bowing lower._

"_E-eight." He said, his voice just barely above a whisper. _

"_Eight, huh?" Pete replied enthusiastically. "That's practically a man!"_

_Jack said nothing._

"_Kind of quiet, isn't he?" The man said, looking up at Jack's father. _

"_He's just a little shy's all." His father answered, giving Jack's shoulders a squeeze. "He'll warm up to you eventually. _Won't _you Jack?"_

_Slowly Jack gave a nod, still not lifting his eyes from the floor._

"_Kinda small for eight, ain't he?" Another of the men spoke up. "Looks more like about five to me."_

"_Well he'll grow!" Pete jumped in. "Won't ya little man?" He again addressed Jack. "I'll bet you turn out big and strong, just like your Daddy, huh?" _

_Still Jack said nothing, and his father stepped in._

"_Well he better!" He laughed as though joking. "Listen fellas, I gotta go take a leak. You mind watching him for a sec.?"_

"_Naw man, go ahead." Matthew, another of the group said. _

_Jack's father gave a nod before crouching down and turning his son to face him, resting his giant hands on his shoulders._

"_Now you stay here Jackie-boy. I'll be back in a minute. Don't go wandering off." And suddenly he gave Jack another painful squeeze, Jack's face twisting slightly with it. "Okay?" He asked, his voice friendly but his hands saying otherwise. And Jack nodded._

"_That's a good boy." His father went on before standing. "Be back in a minute." _

_With that, he headed towards the back and through a door, leading to the places restroom, leaving Jack alone with the other men. _

_Jack had watched him go, and the moment he disappeared from view, he wrapped his arms around himself, once more fixing his stare to the ground._

_The men watched him a long moment, puzzled by his seeming unwillingness to even look at them. _

"_Hey kid…" Matthew called. "Kid?"_

"_He's got a _name_ Matt." Pete said, and Matthew shrugged, rolling his eyes. _

_Pete stared at him a moment._

"_Well maybe if you tried using it…"_

"_Whatever man." _

_And Pete frowned slightly, looking over at Jack, who still stood as he was before._

"_Jack?" Pete tried, choosing to ignore his tactless friend. "Hey, you alright Jack? Your Dad'll be back in just a minute, if that's what's buggin' you."_

_At this, Jack finally glanced up at the men, swallowing hard._

"_You okay son?" Pete asked again._

_And again Jack's eyes fell._

"… _I'm alright." He answered softly._

"_You sure? You seem like somethin's botherin' you. We ain't gonna hurt you little man. You don't have to worry. We're all friendly here, despite what we might look like." Pete laughed._

"_Yeah son. You don't gotta be scared of us." Another man said._

_Jack glanced up at them, his head still bowed low, remaining silent. _

_Matthew's eyes narrowed._

"_You sure you're eight?" He asked._

_For a moment, Jack hesitated, wondering briefly if this was some kind of test, if maybe his father was somehow involved. _

_His eyes only momentarily fell on the man before moving back down, and he gave a vague nod. _

"_I-I'm eight." He answered, nearly inaudibly._

_Pete regarded him carefully, wondering why the kid was so shy._

"_Why don't you come over here Jack?" He asked._

_And Jack again glanced up at him._

"_Come on over. We're not gonna bite ya."_

_Jack breathed out, his gaze sliding to the door which his father had disappeared through, wondering still if this was some sort of game, wondering if he did the wrong thing what might happen._

"_I… I should wait for my father." He said finally._

"_Well that's what you're doin' son." Matthew said. "Don't worry. You're not goin' anywhere."_

_Jack said nothing to that, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. He couldn't stop thinking about the million possibilities of why his father would leave him alone with these men at all. His father was reluctant to ever let him out of his sight, didn't even like sending him off to school, but of course, an education was state required and his father wasn't going to home school him. He didn't have a choice in the matter there. _

_Just standing there, Jack suddenly realized how tired he was. _

_He wanted to sit right now, wanted to go to sleep even, but he knew he couldn't._

"_You ever see your father lay bricks Jack?" Pete asked suddenly, and Jack's eyes moved to him._

_Slowly he shook his head._

"_Heh. Well, you're in for a treat. Nobody here lay's em' as fast as your pops does. It's a serious skill, ya know. Most people don't know that."_

_And Jack nodded._

"_I… I know." He replied. "M-my father's told me."_

"_Well of course he has!" Another man exclaimed. "Nobodies as proud of bein' a brick layer as Collin." He laughed._

_Again Jack's eyes moved to the door._

_God, he wanted to rest._

"_Hey, if you're lucky little man, maybe your Dad'll let you lay a few bricks!" Pete said excitedly._

_Jack stayed quiet, his gaze again resting on the floor._

_There was definitely something _strange _about this kid, Pete thought, though he supposed it was just him being an eight year old, uncomfortable without his parents in the room, what with the way he kept looking at the bathroom door._

_He thought about maybe trying to make him more comfortable._

"_So, Jack… What grade are you in?"_

_Jack's eyes flitted up and for a long moment, he said nothing._

"… _I… I'm g-going to Cherry Hights M-Middle School starting in… in August." He answered softly. "M-Mostly seventh and eighth grade c-courses."_

_The men looked at him with mild surprise._

"_Wait a second…" Matthew started. "Didn't you say you were eight years old? Shouldn't you be in, like, second or third grade or somethin'?" _

_Jack's eyes moved to the man for only a few, short seconds before he looked down once more._

"… _I'm adv-vanced placement." He said, with no hint of pride or braggadocios flaunting. He in fact seemed almost shameful of the fact._

"_So you're some kind of little Einstein?" Matthew went on._

"_I wouldn't say that." They all turned in the direction of Collin's voice, and saw him, standing within the doorframe, leaning in and staring at his son._

_Almost instantly Jack stooped lower, his head bowing down completely as he held his arms stiffly to his side._

_His father started in to the room._

"_Kid got a scholarship to some fancy school up in the burbs. No way I could have afforded to send him there otherwise." He came towards Jack, reaching him within a few strides and placing an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close. Jack didn't look up, didn't make a move. "I guess he's what you'd call… brainy. Huh Jack?" He looked down at him, and Jack gave a weak nod. _

"_Y-yes Sir." He stammered._

"_But I wouldn't go callin' him a genius just yet." He laughed. "The teachers at his old school said he wasn't really fitting in, getting bullied. They gave me some line about him needing special attention or some crap like that. I say all the kid need's is to learn how to throw a right hook." Again he laughed. "But you know how it is. They said they couldn't _handle _him, that they weren't equipped, whatever the hell that means." He gave Jack a hard squeeze, hurting his shoulders, and Jack fought not to make a sound. "Just needs to learn to fight, not be such a pa… pushover, and he wouldn't need any fancy, smanshy school. I don't really believe in it, you know. It's almost like… _rewarding_ him for getting beat up!"_

"_Well, he's small for his age Collin." Pete said. "It's probably hard for him. And anyway, that's great, I think. You should be proud of the little guy! He's obviously got a good head on his shoulders. Maybe, one day, he'll be able to make somethin' more of himself then just workin' construction…" His voice trailed off when he saw the look of anger in Collin's eyes._

_Jack felt his father's grip tighten even more and fear suddenly shot through him like a razor blade._

"_Yeah…" His Dad nearly hissed through gritted teeth. "_Maybe_…"_

_Pete licked his lips, looking from Jack to his father, and then back again, it not totally escaping his notice how stressed out Jack suddenly appeared._

"… _Sooo, you takin' him out to the site with us?" He finally asked._

"_Yeah." Jack's father answered. "Thought I'd let him get a look at some hard work. Let him see what it's like."_

"_Hey Jack! What do ya say? You excited?" Pete asked the boy. "You get to come out to the site with us!"_

_For a long moment, Jack said nothing, and he felt his father give him another squeeze._

"_Answer the man, Jack, don't be rude." He said, his voice deceptively friendly._

_Jack nodded weakly._

"_Yes…" he said softly._

"_Yes _what_ Jack?" His father again squeezed his shoulders._

"… _Y-yes I'm… I'm excited." _

_Though Jack's face told a different tale. He looked despondent, and immensely unsure._

_But his father didn't give the other men time to really notice, taking and turning him, moving towards the exit._

"_Let's go then boys." He called, pushing Jack along. And the other men stood from their seats, heading out behind them._

_/_

_They'd all piled in to the company truck, three men in its bed, with Jack's father driving and Pete taking up the passenger's side. Jack himself had been put in between the two of them, and sat with his hands curled in his lap, his head down._

_Pete continued to talk to him, his father glancing down at him every few minutes, his eyes shifting afterwards to his co-worker._

"_So Jack... you got a favorite school subject?" _

_Jack felt himself go rigid, his eyes slowly lifting to his father. He couldn't answer without the man's permission, knowing what would happen should he do anything he wasn't allowed, or in any way step out of line. His father glanced down at him, his mouth set in a thin line, giving a single nod. _

_And Jack looked back down, muttering out an answer._

"_No." _

_Pete looked at him in surprise._

"No_?" He questioned, it striking him immediately as unusual. "You don't have a favorite subject?"_

_And Jack shook his head, still not looking up._

"… _Well why not? Every kid's got a favorite subject!"_

_Jack said nothing to this, and suddenly his father interjected._

"_They gave the kid some weird test, like an IQ test or something." He started. "He scored some number on it and that's what made em' say they couldn't handle him there, that he needed special attention. What was it you scored again Jackie?" _

"… _one… w-one ninety-five." Jack answered in nearly a whisper._

"_Yeah, that was it. They said the score was exceptional or some such nonsense."_

_Pete stared at Collin wide eyed._

"I'll_ say it's exceptional." He said. "One ninety-five? Geeze! Do you know what the average IQ score is man?"_

_And Collin shrugged, shaking his head._

"_It's something like a hundred, hundred and ten." Pete answered. He glanced down at Jack. "If he scored one ninety-five, that means he's a genius for sure! Like, a genius for _real_."_

_Jack's father glared at Pete, saying nothing for a long moment, and Jack continued to sit silent, his hands curling tighter in his lap._

"… _Yeah, well…" He began finally, clear agitation in his voice. "The boy's not having any problem which can't be solved by his own two fists. He just needs to learn that's all. The way they coddle kids today… that's what's causing all the problems."_

_Pete stared at Collin, taken aback by the tone in his voice. He'd never heard his friend speak so grudgingly, or with such apparent strain, like he was having difficulty getting the words out._

_He looked back down at Jack, who continued to sit as he was, not moving at all. Silent. _

_He thought maybe he should say something to Collin, that he should maybe try to understand how mean kids could be, and Jack being so small… it couldn't have been easy. Even if he did know how to fight, just to look at him one could tell he wouldn't have the advantage of strength on his side. He was incredibly thin, Pete noticed, almost emaciated looking, short for an eight year old, giving just a general, overall impression of fragility. He didn't think the boy would have much of a chance against anyone, really, not in a physical fight._

_But then Pete thought better of it. Jack wasn't his kid, after all, and it really wasn't his place to tell Collin how he should and shouldn't raise him. _

_So he dropped it, and for the rest of the ride, the three of them were quiet._

_At the site, Jack's father told him to stay put on the workers bench, not to move from there. Bending down in front of him, he'd taken hold of his son's arm, hissing lowly to him…_

"_Pay _attention_ Jack. This is a _man's_ work. Maybe seeing what it takes will help you stop being such a _pansy_."_

_And Jack had nodded, keeping his gaze down._

_By noon, the July sun was blazing in the sky, beating down harshly and unforgivingly on them._

_Jack had begun at that point to feel light headed, and slightly nauseas, the heat bothering him greatly, though he willed himself to keep his eyes on his father, watching him work, in contrast seemingly oblivious to the sun, not slowing his pace for a moment. _

_Jack hadn't eaten anything since the afternoon before, nor drank anything either. He'd asked the previous evening if he could have a bowl of cereal, but his father had said no, and he hadn't be allowed to go to bed until four in the morning. Jack had conked out by the time his father let him, but only two hours later had he woken him, dragging him with him to work._

_Sweat formed in a thick layer across Jack's forehead, his dizziness growing, and he couldn't help it then as leaned forward, his head hanging down, trying to quell how shaky he suddenly felt. _

_He jumped then when someone sat suddenly beside him, and inadvertently, he pushed back, looking up to find Pete, staring down at him with a friendly smile._

"_Hey there son." He said, and Jack just stared at him, his eyes slightly wide. "You look like you could maybe use a bite to eat." _

_Jack watched him pull a crumpled looking brown paper bag from beside him, holding it on his lap, along with a thermos. _

"_Here…" he said, reaching in to the bag and pulling out something wrapped in paper. "I'm not too hungry, so why don't you take my sandwich here."_

_He began to unwrap it, and Jack watched carefully, his eyes fixed on the action._

"_It's ham." Pete said, holding the meal out to Jack. "You like ham?"_

_For a long, few seconds, Jack kept his gaze on the sandwich. He could smell it and suddenly he became very aware of how hungry he was, the pangs in his stomach running deep._

"_Here." Pete said again. "Take it. It's yours." _

_And finally Jack's eyes moved up to the man's face, staring at him with uncertainty. Pete looked back, waiting._

_Jack blinked, his eyes sliding to his father, who had his back to them, still working, and then back again to the sandwich. _

_Pete sighed._

"_Okay, here." He placed the food down on the bench between them, turning his attention to his thermos, unscrewing the top and beginning to pour the liquid from it in to the cup. _

_Filling it to the brim, he turned again towards Jack, holding it out to him._

"_There you are." He said, and still Jack only stared at him. "It's orange juice."_

"_Listen, Jack…" Pete began. "You look like you're going to pass out there son. Please, take this, and take the sandwich. You need it more then I do."_

_Jack wanted to, he wanted to take it, but his father…_

_Again his gaze went to him, and still he had his back turned._

"_Son, if you don't take this sandwich and juice, I'm going to tell your Daddy you've been neglecting yourself!" Pete laughed jokingly, trying to encourage the boy._

_Jack's eyes turned to saucers, the fear evident in them. And he thought suddenly that his father must have sent the man over, that this had been under his say so._

"_I… I'll e-eat it! I'll eat it!" He said, sounding desperate, his voice almost pleading. _

"_Hey, hey! Calm down there little man." Pete said, putting his hands up. "No pressure. I just don't want to see you pass out is all."_

_And Jack looked back, his chest rising and falling in a kind of panic. _

_The man regarded him carefully, his mouth twisting in to a frown._

_He didn't think he'd ever seen a child so on edge before, so nervous. _

_Something was up with him. _

_Collin had told him once that his son was a little strange, but really, Pete thought, it seemed deeper then that, like there was maybe something _wrong_ with him._

_He watched as Jack once more glanced over at his father before slowly taking up the sandwich, bringing it to his mouth and taking a tentative bite._

_But once Jack had gotten a taste of it, he felt his stomach rumble harder, and he couldn't help suddenly wanting more. All he ever had at home was cereal and sometimes just plain bread. Bagels sometimes. His father never cooked for him, though he knew he could. He cooked for himself. Jack was made to prepare his own meals, and he didn't know at all how to really make anything. He could only ever eat what happened to be left over in the fridge, and that was really it. _

_He took another bite of the sandwich. He was sure he'd never really tasted anything so good before._

_And Pete laughed good naturedly at the sight, seeing how much the boy liked it once he began eating it. _

"_See?" He said. "Not so bad, right?" _

_Jack stopped, glancing up at him._

"_Here." Pete picked up the juice, handing it to him. "Wash it down with this."_

_Jack swallowed what was in his mouth, reaching out with a shaky hand and taking the cup._

_He stared at the orange liquid, his eyes again glancing up at Pete a moment later, and Pete nodded, smiling._

"_Go ahead. It's alright."_

_Several seconds past, Jack still looking at the man, when finally he brought the cup to his lips, his eyes moving down as he sipped the liquid slowly._

_Gradually, his dizziness and nausea had begun to dissipate, and already he was feeling better. _

_Before he'd known it, he'd ended up eating the entire sandwich and finishing off the juice._

"_Good job little man!" Pete said, taking the wrapper from him, crumpling it up and tossing it back in to the paper bag. "You want some more juice?"_

_Jack looked up at him, nodding. _

_And Pete smiled, pouring more of the liquid in to the thermos' cap, handing it back to the boy. Jack took it, now eagerly bringing it to his lips and drinking it down quickly._

_And this repeated until all the juice had been drunk._

"_Dang, you sure were thirsty, huh?" Pete chuckled, and Jack stared back, nodding._

"_Well glad I could be of service then!" The man exclaimed._

_Jack said nothing to that, his eyes again drifting to the ground. _

_Pete glanced around, noticing Collin staring over at them, his eyes on Jack. But then he turned away, resuming his work. _

_Pete looked down at his watch._

_There was still fifteen minutes left on his break, and he looked back up at Jack then, noticing how the boy had again grown completely still and quiet, his arms wrapped around himself, his head turned away. _

"_Hey Jack…" He started, and Jack turned towards him, his eyes only lifting part way. "I've still got some time to kill, and I don't know, you look a little bored, sitting here by yourself. How about a piggyback ride?" _

_Jack blinked. _

"… _W… what's that?" He asked, his voice soft._

_Pete looked back at him wide eyed, mildly shocked._

"_You don't know what a piggyback ride is?" He asked, clear surprise in his voice._

_And Jack just shook his head._

"_Well then I'm just gonna have to show you!" Pete said, enthused, standing suddenly. _

_Without warning, he moved behind Jack and then reached out, taking him under the arms and picking him up. _

_Jack gasped audibly, and before he knew it, Pete had lifted him high in to the air, above his own head, and Jack's eyes squeezed tightly shut, a sickening rush dropping down through his stomach as he tried to brace himself for what he was sure was going to be an impact with the ground. He couldn't remember the number of times his father had lifted him up like this only to slam him down on the floor or send him hurdling across the room, in to a wall._

_But the impact never came, and Jack felt himself slowly being lowered, his legs falling over the man's broad shoulders, his bottom against the top of the man's back as he bent slightly forward, Pete still holding him securely under his arms. _

"_Now just wrap your arms around my neck Jack, and hold on tight." He said, and hesitantly, Jack's eyes opened._

"_I… I'm going to f-fall." He whispered, his voice shaking, and Pete laughed. _

"_No you're not son. Just hold on tight. I won't let anything happen to you. But you gotta hold on!"_

_Almost reactively, Jack's arms came around Pete's neck, clinging to him tight, pressing the side of his face down against the back of his head, and again the man laughed, his hands moving to Jack's legs._

"_Now hang on!" He said, and without further warning, he began to jog forward._

_Again Jack gasped, another rush dropping down through his stomach, his eyes squeezing shut once more as he clung even tighter._

_And suddenly Pete changed direction, zigzagging from left to right._

_As the moments past, and Jack hadn't yet fallen, he finally built up the courage to open his eyes, hesitantly at first, and finally all the way._

_Pete was running with him, darting this way and that, and slowly, Jack began to lift his head, his arms still wrapped tight around the man's neck as he looked about._

_He didn't think he'd ever been this high up before._

_And now there was another kind of rush he felt, only this one didn't make him feel queasy, didn't… didn't frighten him. _

_The corners of his mouth began to pull upwards, his eyes growing wide in wonderment._

"_Faster Jack?" Pete called up to him._

_Jack nodded, not even really realizing it._

"_Yeah?" Pete asked._

"_Y… yeah." Jack answered, his lips pulling in to a more pronounced smile._

"_You sure?" Pete asked again._

"_Y-yeah!" Jack exclaimed, the excitement now evident in his voice. "YEAH!"_

"_Okay!" Pete said, smiling wide himself at hearing the happiness in the boy. _

_And he began to run more quickly._

_And Jack began to laugh, without even understanding why, he began to laugh, loudly and joyously and freely, his voice rising up in to the air, uninhibited and happy… truly happy. _

_He'd never experienced anything like this before… never felt this way before. Like… like he was _flying_, like he could just jump in to the air and take off for the sky! _

_And his laughter grew, without thought, Pete beginning to laugh with him now, carrying the boy across the grass and over the sidewalk, this way and that, and all around._

_Quickly they reached the end of the construction site and Pete turned, ready to run back the other way, only to come face to face with Collin, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his expression stoic, unreadable. _

_Pete came to a sudden and fast halt, and Jack's laughter immediately cut, his eyes growing wide, his arms instinctively wrapping tighter around the man's neck, abrupt and consuming fear slicing through his joy like a knife, stamping it out as quickly as it had come._

"_Oh, huh… hey Collin." Pete said. But Collin wasn't even looking at him, his eyes fixing hard on his son. "We were just having a bit of fun. The kid looked bored so I thought I'd…"_

"_I need to take him home now." Collin interrupted, still staring at the boy, his voice flat._

"_Really?" Pete questioned. "I mean, he's only been here a few hours…"_

_Collin's eyes finally shifted to the man._

"_I need to take him home." He repeated without explanation as to why. "I'll only be about forty minutes. I'm sure you guys can carry on fine without me for the time being, seeing as I haven't taken by break yet."_

"… _Yeah, sure man…" Pete said, looking at him intently, wondering what was going on. "No problem."_

_He raised his hands up, taking hold of Jack underneath his arms and lifting him up and over his head, placing him gently back on the ground._

_Looking down at the boy, Pete noticed how incredibly quiet he'd suddenly gone, and how his head bowed low, his eyes again fixed on the ground, his arms once more wrapping round himself. Any previous liveliness he'd had was now gone._

_Collin stared at his co-worker only a moment more before again fixing his gaze on his son. _

_He reached out._

"_Come on Jack." He said, holding his hand out for his son to take._

_Jack glanced up with only his eyes, his head still held low, his arms slowly uncurling from around his torso, and he reached forward with clear hesitancy, his small, thin hand disappearing within his father's giant one._

"_Be back in forty." Collin said, turning, pulling Jack behind him, beginning to walk quickly away, Jack struggling to keep pace, nearly losing his footing and tripping._

_And Pete could only watch as Collin opened the drivers side door of the truck and lifted Jack up, dropping him down on to the seat, climbing in after him, barely giving his son enough time to crawl to the other end. He slammed the door shut once inside the vehicle, Jack disappearing from sight, too short for his head to be seen above the dashboard, and a moment later, the engine roared to life, the truck pulling out of the area, vanishing within seconds down the road._

_/_

_The door to their apartment swung wide as his father pushed it open, kicking it the rest of the way as he took hold of Jack with both hands and heaved him back, swinging him violently forward and letting go, throwing him through the threshold._

_A high pitched gasp escaped Jack's throat as he felt himself fly uncontrolled through the air, barely having time at all to brace for the pain he knew was to come before he went crashing to the floor, landing hard against his shoulder, a small cry tearing from his throat as he tumbled a few feet, coming then to an abrupt halt, splayed out on his stomach._

_He had no time to move even before he heard the front door slam shut and his father's heavy footsteps crossing the floorboards towards him. _

_He tried turning, tried crawling backwards and away, but within seconds of it his father had reached him, bending down and burying his fingers in his son's hair, jerking him up and forward._

_Jack choked out at the pain, a sad whimper pushing past his lips as his Dad pulled him closer, bending down so that he was right in his sons face._

_And he reared his hand back…_

"_You _stupid_. _Little_. _Bastard_!" He spit, his voice harsh as gravel, punctuating each word with a hard slap across Jack's mouth, splitting his lower lip, the insides of his mouth cutting against his teeth, and soon the nauseating taste of blood spread across his tongue. _

_The boy's arms lifted in a vain attempt to block the blows, only to have his hands knocked easily aside or slammed back in to his own face, and he cried out, tears forming fast and thick in his eyes. _

"_What in the _fuck_ was that back there boy?" His father continued, ignoring his son's agonized expression. "You have the God damned _nerve _to disobey _me_?"_

_Jack shook his head weakly, the tears now sliding quick down his cheeks._

"_N-n-no, p-please Sir, I didn't… didn't m-mean…"_

"_SHUT UP!" His father raged, again backhanding him across the mouth, making wider the already painful split in his lip, and Jack's ears rung loudly with the blow. _

_He buried his fingers deeper in his son's hair, his fingers scraping against the boy's scalp as he jerked his head severely to the side._

"_Don't you _lie_ to me boy. I _saw_ you with my own eyes, scarffing down that sandwich like some kind of disgusting _pig_! Did I say you could eat anything Jack? Huh? Did I say you could EAT anything?"_

_Tears continued to fall from his eyes, and in a voice barely audible, weak with fear and pain, Jack answered._

"_N-nno." He whined. _

_He'd thought his father had sent that man over to give him the food… he'd thought… when that man had said he would tell his father if he didn't eat it… he hadn't meant to disobey… but he couldn't tell that to him now. He would never believe him, never accept it._

"_That's _right _Jackie-boy. I _didn't_. And yet you still went ahead and stuffed your _stupid fucking face_ anyway, didn't you?"_

_Jack's heart beat wildly in his chest, his neck beginning to hurt from the angle his father was forcing his head. How could he explain to him, how could he make him understand that he hadn't meant to do it._

"… _S-sorry. I… I'm s-so… sorry…" He whimpered, it being the only thing he could think to say, to do._

_His father's teeth bared in a snarl._

"_Sorry isn't _good _enough Jackie!" He hissed. And suddenly his hand uncurled from Jack's hair and he reached out, taking his son's shirt in both hands and lifting him bodily from the floor, moving swiftly across the room and slamming him back against a wall._

"_You pathetic little _ingrate_!" He seethed. "I take you to _my_ place of work, risk _my _reputation by letting those men see what a pitiful fucking _fag_ you are, all in the hope you may actually learn something, may actually learn not to be such a God damned _pansy_! And what do I get for it? You shoveling food down your throat! Made me _sick_, watching you eat, you disgusting piece of shit!"_

_His father's hands curled tighter in the material of Jack's shirt, pressing him harder against the wall, pushing against his chest, making it hard to breath._

_And still tears continued to run from his eyes, his breath coming rapid and shallow as his fear grew._

"_Ohhh, and you were just having yourself a _good_ old time after that, weren't you Jackie?" His father continued, leaning closer. "Huh? Did you have _fun_, little boy? Riding around on Pete's shoulder's like that? The way you were laughin', it sure sounded like it. Laughin' just like a _girl_, you fucking sissy. Is that what you think of me bringing you to my work? That it's nothing more then a chance for you to fuck around and _play_?"_

_Jack shook his head, his voice straining in his throat as he tried to tell his father no._

_But his father only tore him from the wall, slamming him back hard, his head snapping against it, making the room spin._

"_You disrespectful maggot!" His said. "I break my back taking care of your useless ass, and you don't even fucking _notice_! You don't care! You just take and take and don't give _shit _back Jackie-boy!" He glared hard at his son. "You just think you're so fuckin' special, don't you? Ohhh, look at _me_ everyone! I scored big on some stupid fucking test, I'm so special, I get to go to some fancy, piece of shit school now cause I'm too much of a _faggot_ to stand up for myself in a fight! That's YOU Jackie!"_

_His father untangled one hand from Jack's shirt, reaching up and taking vicious hold of his son's jaw, squeezing down tight._

"_You think you're _special_ Jackie? You think you're fucking SPECIAL?"_

_And Jack shook his head, more tears falling from his eyes._

_His father pushed his head back._

"_That's right Jackie-boy. You ain't shit! You're not special! You're nothing. _Less_ then nothing, you ungrateful bastard!" He pushed him harder against the wall, leaning in. "Oh, boo, hoo teacher…" he started in a whiny, high pitched voice, mocking his son. "Those big, mean bullies are beating me up and I don't know what to dooo… I need special attentiiion…" He let go Jack's face, smacking either of his cheeks. "Wha, wha, wha… you little _pansy_. You're nothing but a pathetic _weakling_ boy. Disgusting how _easy_ you are to kick the shit out of. You get beat up as much as you do and you damn well _deserve _it Jackie-boy."_

_Without warning, he pulled Jack from the wall, swinging him around and again throwing him across the floor. _

_Jack landed hard on his back this time, the impact knocking the wind from him, and he gasped loudly, followed by a harsh wheezing. _

_His father stepped quickly towards him, giving the boy no time to move before he'd reached down, grabbing hold of Jack by the shirt, lifting his head and shoulders from the floor._

"_The only way to get the pansy out of you boy is to _beat_ it out." His hissed lowly, his voice soft. And Jack stared back with wide, terrified eyes._

"_I… I-I'm s-sorry." He stammered, his voice frail. "I'm s-sorry…"_

_And his father hissed._

"_Like I said, _Jackie-boy_… sorry ain't good enough…"_

_The next thing Jack knew, his father's fist had collided hard against his face, and then again, his nose exploding in to blood, the copper taste filling his mouth as a loud buzzing assaulted his ears and dizziness took him._

_He fell limp, knowing any other reaction would only make it worse._

_And his father beat him, punching and slapping him repeatedly, viciously, until Jack's face was a swell of bruises, blackened eyes and abrasions along his cheeks, swollen and cut lips. And it wasn't long before Jack felt nauseous from swallowing his own blood, after a while the pain in the structure of his bones growing almost numb, each blow reverberating through his skull and shaking him to his core. Tears had continued to shed from his closing eyes, wetting his cheeks, mucus and blood dripping steady and fast from his nose, his father letting him know how repulsive he was for it, how disgusting._

_After what seemed forever, his father stopped hitting his face, and removing his belt, he told Jack to get his pants and underwear down. _

_Further fear gripped Jack's heart in anticipation of what was to come, and he was barely able to comply, shaking near uncontrollably, his long, thin fingers hardly able to grasp the button and zipper of his trousers, finally undoing them after several tries and unsteadily pushing the two articles to his ankles. _

"_Now up against the coffee table Jack! Lean over it, on to your stomach!" His father snapped._

_Fresh tears pushed from the corners of Jack's eyes, his arm coming up to wipe at his running nose. He could hardly stand, he felt so dizzy, was in so much pain, and it took every ounce of his effort just to begin towards the table, his ability to walk restricted by the pants and briefs around his ankles. But his father hadn't told him to take them off all the way, and he wouldn't dare step out of them without permission. _

"_Hurry up!" His father spit, growing impatient, and Jack tried hurrying, tripping in the process, falling hard to his knees._

"… _Loser." He heard his Dad mutter, and panic caused him to push himself back to his feet, though he was slow getting there, another wave of dizziness taking him, almost putting him back down. _

"_Up against the table!" His father again hissed. "I don't got all day!"_

_Jack finally reached it, trying not to make a sound, to repress any vocalization of his fear as he leaned over the furniture, against his stomach, his hands gripping along the tables edges. His eyes closed, and he bit down hard on his lip, trying to prepare himself for what he knew was coming._

_The sound of the belt whipping through the air reached his ears, and a moment later, when it lashed against his bottom, he couldn't stop the whimper from escaping his throat and pushing past his lips. It stung like fire, like a blade cutting in to his skin, and more tears came. _

"_Fucking pathetic, sissified _weakling_!" His father snorted, bringing the belt down again, and again, and again, Jack's cries growing louder and more agonized with each lash. His small hands gripped the tables edges to the point of his knuckles turning white as he prayed silently for it to end._

_It hurt so much…_

_And at last it did end, after a dozen lashes, leaving Jack raw and bleeding. _

_He just stayed, splayed out on the table, tears still running from his eyes, a small, hiccupping sob escaping him every, few seconds, unable to control it as he listened to his father putting his belt back on._

_Moments later, and Jack's Dad grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him up before he knelt down, taking hold of his son's pants and underwear, roughly pulling them back up and around his tiny waist before spinning him round and re-zipping and buttoning the trousers. _

_He then grabbed his son's arm, pulling him violently towards his bedroom._

"_Get in there you little shit!" He spit, pushing Jack so hard through the door that he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees._

"_Cause of that little _stunt_ you pulled earlier Jack, you won't be eating for the next two days! I see you trying to eat _anything_ and I'll tear your damned head off! Got it?"_

_Jack nodded weakly, his arms shaking._

"_Y-y-yes S-Sir." He managed, his voice barely audible._

"_Maybe that'll teach you a little _respect_ boy." His father continued. "It's a _privilege _when I take you any place, and you just shit all over it by messin' around, like where I work's your own personal fucking playground! Maybe next time you'll have learned better, though you being as God damned _stupid_ as you are, that's no guarantee." _

_Jack remained silent, his head bowed low, his arms shaking more violently. He felt like he was going to collapse any second, all the strength gone from him._

"_Pff…" his father breathed after a long moment. "Pitiful."_

_And without further word, he slammed Jack's bedroom door closed. A moment later, there was the sound of the key in the door's lock, trapping him inside, and he could hear his father leave the apartment then, to go back to work._

_As soon as he heard the front door close, Jack crumpled on to his stomach, new tears forming and falling from his eyes, more sobs rising quietly from his throat._

_And for several minutes, he just stayed there, in too much pain to move._

_But after a long while, the pain seeming to grow worse on the uncomfortable floor, Jack pushed himself up, first to his hands and knees, and then slowly he struggled to his feet, stumbling over to his frameless mattress, collapsing on to it, on to his knees again._

_His hands came up, burying in his short hair, gripping it tight, his eyes squeezing tightly shut. He felt suddenly so horribly alone, the feeling almost suffocating. That man… he'd… he'd seemed so nice… so kind… but now Jack thought it had all been some elaborate trick on his father's part, and that man… that man must have been involved. He was a fool to have thought anyone would ever be kind to him… to have thought anyone could ever _like_ him. He wasn't good enough to like, wasn't normal enough… the kids at school all called him a freak, and that's what he was. Nobody could like a freak, nobody would ever want to be friends with a freak like him. _

_And with the realization, his loneliness became crushing, consuming, his fingers curling harder in his hair, more tears pushing past his tightly shut lids, sliding down his face as a keening whine came up from his throat, dragging on for several seconds before the sound finally gave way to loud and tortured sobs, broken and wet. _

_He was so alone._

_And always would be._

_Because nobody was ever going to be his friend._

The memories were there, fresh as yesterday. And he knew deep down it wasn't a dream or hallucination. He _felt_ it. And out of nowhere his face flushed hot. He felt humiliated, embarrassed. And the feeling only gave way to more of the same.

His hands curled to fists, tremors running through his frame.

No. _No_. That wasn't him. It _wasn't_. He wasn't that _boy_ anymore. Wasn't someone to be _controlled_, to be _handled _like a limp doll or punching bag.

"I'm not…" he hissed angrily under his breath, glaring at the stone. "I'm _not_."

No reply came.

"I'm not, you bastard. I-I'll… I'll show you I'm not."

And without even really realizing it, he'd begun to sink down to his knees.

"Look at me," he spoke softly. "And look at you. You could never be me. You could _never_ be what I am." He reached his hands out, hesitantly touching the tips of his fingers to the stone, running them over the engraving. "People know me. But nobody… _nobody _knows you. Nobody knows you ever even existed." There were no flowers on the headstone. Probably there hadn't been any since the funeral. He couldn't recall any living relatives, and his father's one-time workmates had in all likelihood forgotten about him by now.

For a moment he fell silent, tracing his father's name, and the years below.

"I would show you… if you hadn't died," he whispered. And now the frustration returned, more intense, suffocating him inside, his fingers curling inwards.

"You fucking _coward_," he spat. "You're lucky… lucky I didn't get my _hands_ on you. You couldn't have faced me. Couldn't have…" His voice trailed off, more memories flooding his mind. Images of the man - huge and strong - coming at him with hands outreached, and himself shrinking back, terrified.

He felt rage.

"That isn't _me_!" he fumed, feeling the need to do something – anything - to relieve these emotions.

His eyes began to dart frantically about, looking for a hard object. He spotted a rock a few feet away, grasping it in his long fingers. Taking the sharpest edge, he began to etch methodically and with heavy pressure into the stone of his father's grave.

/

Batman watched closely from behind the trees, his eyes fixed intently on the crouched and tensed form of the Joker, bent over the grave of his father.

He'd spotted the madman traversing through the damp and malodorous back alleys of the Narrows. At first, he'd intended to take him down and drag him back to Arkham with immediate effect; but something had stopped him, something about the determination he saw in the Joker, how undistracted and purposeful he was in his movement. It was curious. People backed off in terror at the sight of him, yet he didn't seem to notice them. A bum bolted into a derelict house - nearly choking on his hand-rolled cigarette - as the Joker rounded a corner. He was ignored by the clown. A gang of youths – malevolent kids who'd gladly carve out a hapless passerby's eyes for stepping onto their turf - scattered at the Joker's approach, but he didn't acknowledge them either, his eyes fixed dead ahead.

And after about ten minutes of following him, Batman settled on allowing him to make the journey.

The fearlessness the Joker possessed never failed to impress Batman. He could easily have hot-wired a car and driven the way rather than exposing himself to the elements like this, where he could be captured and arrested, or perhaps shot at by some random thug who fancied his chances of taking him out. He limped and gripped his stomach; evidently he was recovering from a serious beating. In his weakened state he was - on paper at least - easier prey than usual. But the Joker was never one to think of practical solutions to things, really. Once he set his mind to something there was no deterring him, no second guesses.

It was the Joker's will power which so astonished the vigilante. He wasn't a physically top conditioned athlete, like Batman himself, and Batman knew, after following him over many a rooftop, that the madman must be physically exhausted; that his feet and joints and entire body must have been in terrible pain. But he didn't slow down.

Something was wrong, however. He'd suspected as much when he heard the Joker hadn't actually killed anyone in his escape from Arkham. And it seemed only to be confirmed when it appeared to the crusader that the Joker remained unaware of his presence in tailing him. The Joker was _always_ aware of when he was around.

But not this time.

And now he watched him as he maneuvered past the iron gates of the Narrows Cemetery and made his way along the winding, overgrown path, past the tiny chapel and remembrance garden, looking intently at each headstone. Watched him sink to his knees over his father's grave, the man who'd made _him _the victim, who'd done to the Joker what the Joker was so used to doing to everyone else. He was working at the headstone, doing something to it with a rock he'd picked up, and Batman could see, from how stiffly the lunatic held himself that he was in some kind of distress.

Quietly, he moved forward, until he was standing only feet back from the Joker, saying nothing.

Silence enveloped the space around for the next, several moments, save for the sound of rock dragging against rock.

And then the Joker spoke, his voice barely audible.

"… I thought the masonry could use some improvement."

Batman shifted.

So he did know he was here. At least now he did.

The vigilante said nothing, and the Joker continued.

"I just figured, you know…" he murmured, calmly, steadily, belying his rigid stance. "Someone should say something … about _him._ A lasting memorial; some insight for those who might deign to glance downwards at this humble stone. Because it just doesn't seem… appropriate, him remaining so completely anonymous, nobody ever knowing what he was…"

Batman listened to him carefully, feeling himself growing tense.

The Joker's voice was soft, steady, but the crusader could detect the rage in it, just beneath the surface.

His eyes shifted to the stone.

_Charlatan,_ it read. _Coward. _ _Fraud._

"What do you think Batman?" The Joker went on. "Isn't it _right_? You, who're so caught up on notions or right and wrong?"

For a moment, Batman said nothing, remaining still.

"… Joker, you…"

"It isn't _fair_, is it Batman?" The madman cut him short. "It isn't fair for me, denied the opportunity to _show_ him. To make him see I'm not that boy anymore, not the sniveling weakling he could so easily… easily have his way with."

He continued to chip at the headstone. Batman watched, saying nothing. He was mildly surprised to find himself actually feeling a little sad for the Joker, watching him work so desperately to deface his father's grave marking. Then there was that disconcerting confusion in his voice, something he'd never really heard before.

He supposed it was that which so far had kept him from stopping the Joker.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

For a moment, there was no reply.

"… Sorry?" The Joker lifted his head, quizzical, suddenly alert.

Batman said nothing.

"_Sorry_?"

The vigilante could see the Joker's entire frame begin to tremble, his arms shaking noticeably.

"You? _Sorry?_" hissed the clown, incredulous. "Don't make me _laugh!"_

And abruptly he stood, tossing the rock violently aside, his eyes still fixed on the headstone.

"I hate you," he seethed. "I fucking _HATE YOU_!"

Batman watched in shock then as the Joker began furiously to kick at the grave marker, began to spit on it and curse at it. And he realized the Joker wasn't talking to him at all, but that he was talking to his father, and he well and truly now had lost control of himself, of his emotions, his usual eloquence giving way to his overwhelming anger and frustration.

"I hope you fucking suffered, you piece of shit _scum bag_! I hope you're suffering _now_! Begging and crying like the _coward_ I know you are!"

For several minutes it continued, and Batman only stood silent, watching, taken aback by the unrestrained outburst, and the very clear agony in the Joker's voice, in his words. Never had the vigilante seen the madman resort to such base, such simplistic ways of insult. He would always pride himself on his sharp wit and grasp of language. Degrade and belittle in only the cleverest of ways. For all the clown's innumerable flaws, Batman had rarely, if ever, heard him cuss. The Joker was a carnival of contradictions. He'd slaughter indiscriminately, yet Batman couldn't recall the last time he'd heard him use the f word. Seeing him now, how desperate he was, he knew the Joker had lost all hold on himself. It was unsettling, bizarre. It felt _wrong_.

Batman knew to not interrupt. He understood from experience - from instinct - that he had to leave him be, allow him this moment of catharsis.

It didn't escape him, the surreal nature of having to allow the _Joker_ this moment; to allow him to vent what was clearly _real _grief.

He never would have imagined the Joker even capable of such an emotion.

But that was before he'd found out who the Joker had been before everything had gone so terribly wrong for him.

That he'd been a man - a _good_ man, a _caring_ man – albeit one who'd suffered incredibly. A victim of his own trusting nature and unique mind; of people's inability to understand, and consequently, he was subjected to their cruelty and derision.

And the one person who was supposed to love and treat him well – his father - instead beat and belittled him, conditioned him to think of himself as worthless. Made him believe he _deserved_ the abuse, and that he needed his father, conditioned him to be totally dependent and too unsure of himself to ever, properly operate on his own.

It made Batman sick to his stomach just to think of it. He knew - just from what he'd observed of Jack's behavior - that the abuse he'd suffered was far worse than his wife had ever been made aware of. And of course that was the case. Jack had never disclosed the full extent of his suffering to Jeannie, out of fear and humiliation.

If there was ever the slightest chance of the Joker recovering from his psychoses, he would need to remember – and crucially, acknowledge - everything that had happened to him.

His sudden and violent outburst was evidence that he was beginning to do just that. He was dealing with something alien to him.

He was in pain, and was only just now letting it show.

At last, after several minutes of intense kicking and screaming, the Joker grew silent, the only sound his ragged breathing, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

And still Batman said nothing, watching him.

The Joker was unpredictable, and the vigilante had found it best to wait and see what it was he would do before doing anything himself. Trying to predict him was never the wisest choice.

Seconds stretched to minutes, and the lunatic remained still and quiet, Batman the same, when suddenly the receiver in his ear crackled to life, and he heard Nightwing's voice come over the com link.

"Batman!"

He pressed the receiver.

"Yes?"

"Have you located the Joker yet?"

"Yes."

There was a pause.

"…I've got some bad news." Dick's voice sounded grave, hesitant.

Batman said nothing, waiting for him to explain.

"Harley Quinn's just escaped Arkham. Robin and Batgirl are working on getting her back."

Bruce felt his brow furrow.

Harley was dangerous to be sure, but nothing any of them couldn't handle. He wasn't sure what the point in contacting him about it was, not when he had the Joker to concentrate on, something which required his full attention.

"Then what's the problem?" He asked shortly, his eyes remaining on the madman before him.

"Bruce…" Dick started slowly. "… Ms. Reinking's in the hospital. Gotham General. Intensive care."

"… _What_?" Batman asked, not entirely sure he'd heard right.

"Harley attacked her late last night. She got a shard of glass past security, slashed Ms Reinking's throat with the thing when she went to speak with her."

Batman grunted with frustration. "What the hell was she doing even _talking_ to her?"

"Don't ask me. All we know is that she came to Arkham last night demanding to see Harley, and they allowed it. They talked, and then Harley attacked her. She's in critical condition, Bruce … they don't know… they don't know if she's going to make it."

At the words, Bruce felt his anxiety rise tenfold.

This was the worst possible scenario.

If she died, he thought, everything would be undone, shattering any hope of the Joker making a full recovery. And he'd have only himself to blame, for allowing her to go through with this whole, insane endeavor to begin with. More blood on his hands. He eyed the Joker, who remained unmoving from his position.

He had to tell him. It wouldn't be fair otherwise. They were technically still married. This made Joker, along with their son, her next of kin. Jeannie had meant everything to him once. And deep down, Batman was beginning to suspect that this was still the case. Before he'd become the Joker, when he was still just Jack, she had been his life, the only thing which had ever kept him going.

If he told the Joker now what had happened … Batman didn't know what the outcome would be. It could crush the last vestiges of humanity residing within him.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes casting down.

"Understood."

"Batman…" Nightwing interrupted, before his former mentor could cut the line. "Where are you? Where's the Joker?"

"Later," Bruce said curtly.

"But…"

"I said _later_."

He cut the line.

The Joker still hadn't moved, hadn't made any indication even that he'd overheard Batman's conversation.

Bruce could see the madman's breathing was still labored, that the rigidity to his body had dispersed, and he stood slack, as though exhausted.

The crusader fought with how best to break the news he'd just received, but as he thought of it, he realized there was no way easier then to just be blunt.

Whatever was going to happen was going to happen.

"… Joker…" he began.

At this the madman shifted, his posture slightly straightening.

"Joker, I've got some bad news." Batman breathed.

And a small chuckled escaped the Joker's lips.

"Is there any other kind?"

Batman frowned.

The Joker was depressed. Actually _depressed_. Bruce had never thought he would see the day where the lunatic was anything less then gleeful.

He braced himself for the worse.

"Joker, it's about your wife."

And immediately he started, looking back over his shoulder at the vigilante.

"My… wife?"

Batman breathed in, letting it go slowly.

"She's been attacked, Joker. She's in the hospital, in critical condition."

For a moment, the Joker didn't move, didn't speak; didn't react at all. He stared at Batman for a long moment, silent and unmoving; his brow furrowed deeply, his mouth pulled in to a severe frown.

And then he spoke, so softly the detective barely caught it.

"It wasn't me."


	26. Chapter 26

**Once again, a huge thanks goes out to my beta TheMadCapLaughs for all her immeasurable help. Hope you enjoy the chapter guys and please leave a review.**

**Chapter 26:**

His legs gave way beneath him and he fell to the ground, hard. Instantaneously, Batman caught hold of him. The Joker clung on like a drowning animal, burying his long fingers in Batman's cape. He looked up, eyes gleaming with mania, and grinned. Batman noted something terrible in that grin; something joyless and desperate.

"It's … it's just like old times, Batsy," he babbled. "Remember … remember when you laughed at my joke? _Hahaha!_ Eheh. Jackie-boy can't have _nice _things, you see. That's just how it is. It's pre-ordained. Hahahaha! Oh Jesus, I think I'm gonna … hahaha … think I'm gonna cry, it's so funny …"

His laughter fractured, morphing into a strangled sob. A gasp tore from his throat, his entire form suddenly tense.

"Jeannie. _Hahaha._ You can't die, honey. No… That's not funny. Batsy, you can't… c-can't let anything h… happen to her…"

"It's alright." Batman tried, shifting back awkwardly as the thin man grasped at him. "It's alright. I've got you…"

It was as if the Joker had gotten up and walked away like a spirit departing the body, leaving only Jack behind. Jack was here now; he was holding on to Jack, and now the delicacy of the situation seemed a hundred times more.

"Please…" he shook his head. "S-she can't… she can't…"

He was breaking down. That much was clear. He'd seen it in others, when he'd had to tell them that their loved ones had gone. This man, Jack, had nothing but his wife, no one but her to cling to. She was his life. Losing her would destroy him. Then the Joker… the Joker would take control completely, erasing Jack forever.

"She's… she's going to be okay, Jack," he murmured. Saying the name felt so strange to him. He felt bad about the possibility of lying to this man, for he obviously had no idea whether Jeannie would survive or not, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. His first priority was to reassure Jack for just long enough to get him to the hospital. Jack needed to muster up as much strength as he could for the time being. _He_ needed to be strong _for_ Jack. They'd both have a better idea of Jeannie's condition once they reached Gotham General.

"W-where…" Jack's voice shook heavily. "Where is s-she, oh God…"

"She's in the hospital." Batman answered. "She's getting help."

"I… I have t-to go to her… I h-have to be w-with her…"

He tried standing then, but Batman easily kept him down.

"Stop," he ordered. "Jack, you can't just…"

But now he was looking around, his eyes wide and dazed.

"W-where am I, what… what's g-going on? I… I-I'm not in that p-place anym-more? This is a… a-a-a graveya-yard? W-why are we in a g-graveyard?"

Batman's mouth twisted to a frown. He remembered then how whenever this happened, whenever Jack fought his way to consciousness, he had no recollection of the Joker, or of _anything_ which had transpired since 15 years earlier. He thought it was still 1996, that he was still 24 years old and that his son hadn't yet been born.

If he saw his father's grave, it would only confuse and frighten him, and Batman would then be forced to explain the truth, and right now… right now, he didn't think Jack could handle it. It was far too complicated and overwhelming; something he was going to have to become aware of naturally, something he was going to have to _remember_ in order to accept it.

Batman realized he was going to have to get him out of here. Getting him in to see Jeannie was paramount. The problem was how.

As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Jack was the Joker. His appearance hadn't changed, after all. He couldn't just stroll in to Gotham General with him like this.

Jack was going to need some kind of disguise, and they would need a viable story to get past security.

Batman looked at Jack.

"The drugs they gave you at the hospital caused you to sleepwalk," he explained, thinking quickly. "You wandered off, and then you ended up here."

A lie, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

The thin man nodded, looking down.

"Are y-y… you… are you going to hurt me?" he asked, his voice shaking.

Batman felt his heart sink. "No," he replied crisply. "Now come on, we have to go."

He began to stand, pulling Jack with him.

"Go w-where?" Jack asked, feeling his stomach lurch as he was lifted up.

This was the same man he'd seen before, when he'd woken up in that horrible place. He'd been standing behind Jeannie, looking like a statue, unmoving and cold. The one that woman told him about, the… the one who looked like Jeannie. The one she'd told him Jeannie was leaving him for.

Seeing him so close now, seeing his massive size, feeling his power as he grasped his arms, Jack felt suddenly terrified, recognizing all too well the circumstance of being handled by someone much physically stronger then himself. And the familiar sensation of helplessness was fast to return, suffocating him from within as he realized, even if he wanted to get away, should this giant man choose to not let him, there would be nothing he could do.

"If we're going to get you in to see your wife, I'll have to disguise you." Batman explained. "The authorities are treating this as an escape, and if they see you, they'll take you back immediately."

"An escape?" Jack questioned, confused, nearly falling back to the ground from his own uneasiness when Batman released his grip.

"You don't remember," the larger man said flatly. "You … blacked out. It will all be explained later. But we have to go _now_."

Without saying another word, Batman dialed a series of digits into a device strapped to his forearm. Jack watched him intently, transfixed by the advanced piece of technology. He'd never seen anything like it.

Abruptly Batman straightened and then turned.

"Follow me," he said.

Jack blinked, his uncertainty keeping him in place.

The vigilante turned to look back at him.

"_Now,_" he said, and Jack jumped. Batman sighed inwardly. He didn't enjoy being strict with Jack, but it was the only way to get a response out of him. _The only way he's been conditioned to respond,_ Batman thought sadly, hoping he didn't remind Jack of his brutish father. Jack complied without question, walking a few feet behind.

Jack wanted to ask again where they were going, but Batman hadn't answered him the first time, and he knew that to mean he shouldn't question it further.

Long minutes passed in silence; Batman saying nothing, not even bothering to turn. Jack kept his eyes to the ground, his mind filling with thoughts of Jeannie in the hospital, needing him, and him being here, useless as usual, not knowing how he'd gottenhere in the first place. The last thing he'd known was that he'd been badly beaten by a group of men he'd never even seen before. And then he was in a hospital bed himself.

A loud rumbling caused the ground beneath to vibrate. A massive vehicle moved into view, all shaded glass and sleek, black contours, and pulled to a quick stop in front of them. Seconds later, the roof of the thing slid open, revealing an array of brightly flashing lights and other futuristic-looking things.

"Get in," Batman said.

Jack didn't want to. He had no idea what this man intended to do with him. He didn't even know what he _was_. In his dark cape and cowl with the pointed ears and those sinister gleaming slits for eyes, he resembled a demon. That was silly, of course. But he feared more what should happen if he refused.

So he followed suit, hesitantly making his way towards the bizarre looking vehicle, peering in over its edge. The inside looked more like the cockpit of an airplane then a car. He glanced up in time to see Batman leap over its side, in to the seat.

"There's no d-doors?" He asked.

"No." Batman answered, looking directly up at him. "Now get in."

The coldness of the crusader's voice told Jack not to argue, and so he reached out, tentatively gripping his hands along the framing, slowly and clumsily lifting himself over the edge, struggling with the effort.

Batman watched him carefully, noticing how difficult it seemed for him to get himself up and over, how… un-athletic he seemed. It was surreal. He'd seen the Joker scale twelve foot fences in a matter of seconds, rocket himself over the top and hit the ground running. He was athletic enough, always had been. Quick and agile and strong. But with Jack … it was a lack of confidence that caused his awkwardness. He had all the physical tools to be the Joker, just not the psychological ones.

Finally, after several seconds, Jack had his foot up on the cockpit's frame. Puling himself up, he balanced precariously for a moment before flopping down into the passenger seat.

"Close," Batman said, and a moment later, the roof slid shut.

Jack looked up nervously as it sealed them in, feeling himself shrink back in to the seat. Any chance he might have had to run was now gone. He only prayed this man, whoever he was, kept his word and didn't intend on hurting him.

"Put your seat belt on." Batman ordered. "And then put this on…" he held out a long piece of cloth. "Over your eyes."

Jack blinked, staring down at the thing, and almost immediately he felt his heart seize in his chest.

"A … blindfold?"

Batman only nodded.

"W-why?" Jack stammered, a prickling numbness running to the tips of his fingers.

"Because I said so."

It seemed impossible for Batman to speak to this man as though he weren't the Joker, though logically he knew, at least mentally, right now he wasn't. But he was _looking _at the Joker, or so it seemed, and he couldn't seem to curb the tension he felt from his voice.

He actually felt regret when he took in the stricken expression on Jack's face.

"Please Sir, I-I…"

Batman glared at him and Jack's eyes slid away.

"Please, don't make me…"

_He felt the course material pressing against the lids of his eyes, pulling tighter as his father tied it securely in a knot behind his head._

"_We're going to play a game, Jackie-boy!" his father had announced with un-harnessed glee. And Jack hadn't dared question what kind of "game" his father spoke of._

"_It's a game of trust." His father pushed him back against his bedroom wall, pulling from his pocket a long, thin piece of material. "Doesn't that just sound like _fun_?"_

_When Jack had failed to reply quickly enough, his father had slapped him across the face._

"_I _said_, doesn't that just sound like _fun_, Jackie-boy?"_

"_Y-yes S-Sir…" Jack managed, already terrified._

_And his father had smiled._

"_Good boy. Now turn around."_

_He had, and that's when his father had slipped the blindfold over his eyes._

"_Now Jack, here's how this is going to work. You listening?"_

_Jack swallowed thickly, trying to remember to breathe as he nodded slowly._

_His father smiled, though he couldn't see it. He couldn't see anything now._

"_You're going to go where I tell you Jackie, move where I tell you. And if you _don't_…"_

_Jack felt his father grip tightly to his arm, spinning him round swiftly and shoving him back against the wall again. _

"_Well, we'll just see what happens then."_

_He gripped his son's shoulders, spinning him around several times. And then, without another word, Jack heard his father's heavy footsteps moving away, the creak of his bedroom door and then his father stepping out in to the living area._

"_Come on Jackie-boy!" The man called. "Walk forward."_

_Jack felt his entire frame tense. He was dizzy from having been spun so many times and had no idea which direction he was actually pointed. _

_He began slowly to lift his hands, to reach out and try and gauge where he was, then he heard his father snap._

"_Keep your hands down, boy!"_

_Immediately Jack's arms dropped back to his side._

"_Come on, kiddo…" his father continued. "Like I said, this is a game of _trust_. Don't you trust your Daddy?"_

_Jack felt as though he might be sick, swallowing hard._

"_Y-yes Sir," he replied._

"_Then come on! Walk forward, and keep your fuckin' hands down."_

_Again, Jack swallowed. He had no idea what his father was planning. But he knew if he didn't do as he was told, there would be hell to pay. And so he stepped forward, only to run straight in to a wall._

_His father laughed, watching as Jack stumbled back, almost losing his footing._

"_Whoops. Sorry 'bout that, Jackie-boy. Forgot to tell you to turn _around_ first."_

_Humiliation burned Jack's face, and he could feel his throat constrict. _

"_Turn around Jackie, come forward." His father again ordered._

_Jack knew not to disobey, despite his increasing anxiety, so he turned and tentatively took a step forward, fighting to keep himself from lifting his hands. _

"_Faster, Jackie!" barked his father. "Walk like you normally would."_

_He pushed through his fear, walking forward as though he could still see._

"_Turn right, boy!" _

_Jack exhaled shakily, turning, stepping forward one stride, and with the next his face smashed hard in to the edge of his bedroom door and he went crashing to the floor, pain exploding across his nose and up into his temples. He bit his lip hard to keep from crying out, knowing how his father hated him to show any sort of weakness. A small whimper pushed past his lips regardless, as the pain grew worse. _

_He heard his father's uproarious laughter as he struggled to his hands and knees. _

"_Oop, sorry about that Jack. I meant you should turn a little to your _left_." He chuckled._

_Jack wanted to cry; he could feel the tears threatening at the back of his eyes. But he forced them away, chocking down the rest of his whimpering and pushing himself to his feet._

_His father continued to laugh._

"_That'a boy Jack. Now come on, step forward."_

_The pain had only just started to level out, but his face and head still throbbed terribly, and whatever fear he'd had before seemed only to doubly increase, knowing for certain the game his father now played._

_Inadvertently, his hands again began to lift, an instinctive reaction to not being able to see where he was going, and again his father screamed at him to get them down._

_He stepped forward, trying to remember to not stutter his steps, knowing his father would grow angry if he disobeyed again._

"_That's it Jackie. Come on!" _

_And he continued to direct his son, leading him in to the living room, over and over in to various pieces of furniture, laughing loudly each time Jack hit something hard enough to make him fall. _

_This continued on for several minutes, each moment Jack's humiliation growing deeper. Already he could feel bruises forming over his face and body from the repeated slamming into hard objects, the corners of tables, door frames, chairs…_

_But his father didn't seem at all to be growing bored with it, and after having been ordered to pick himself up for what must have been the sixth or seventh time, his entire frame aching, Jack was told once more to come forward, and it was with surprise that, after several steps, he hadn't yet again run face first in to anything. It confused and unnerved him all the more, and he wanted so badly to reach up and take the blindfold from his eyes._

"_Keep movin' Jackie. Come on." His father went on, and Jack could feel his breath grow more shallow as nothing continued to happen, as he walked without further obstruction. _

_He heard a door opening, and his father telling him again to keep walking._

_And he did, his worry growing each second._

"_That'a boy. Come on son." His father laughed lowly. "Keep goin'." _

_Oh God, what was happening? Where was he going? He prayed his father wasn't going to…_

_He stepped forward, and when his foot came down, there was suddenly no ground beneath. But he couldn't pull back, his momentum forward already in full swing, and he went tumbling, a sickening rush ripping through his stomach as he realized he was falling._

_He gasped loudly, his arms flying out to try and catch himself, and a moment later, he came crashing down, hard, his hands hitting the edge of what felt like steps, before the impact collapsed his arms and his elbows came smashing down, instantly tearing the skin from them. _

_He cried out, unable to help it as his momentum threw him further. _

_He felt like he was being flung in a million directions, out of control as he spun round and round. _

_And then there was consuming pain, flaring up like a rocket from his elbow, in to his shoulder, acute and unrelenting as his entire arm twisted against its natural direction, the snapping of the bone audible. _

_He screamed, the sound broken and uninhibited as the pain radiated and became more immense, so engulfing he didn't even really notice as he hit three more steps before finally coming to a halt at the bottom, splayed out on his back. _

_Small, hiccupping gasps escaped his throat, a kind of gargled noise. His arm was broken, the rest of him battered and bruised, a horrible stinging on the parts of him which had been skinned. Somewhere through the haze of his own agony, he could hear his father's laughter as weakly he reached up, pulling the blindfold from his eyes._

_Tears streaked down his face and he became aware of where he was; that he'd fallen down the stairwell just outside their apartment, a good fifteen steps._

_He didn't think he could move, the pain was so terrible. _

_Moments later, he heard his father coming down towards him, talking to him._

"_Look what you've done, Jackie-boy. Didn't I tell you? Your horsing around was going to get you _hurt._"_

_The man grabbed him, lifting him up from the ground, not taking care to avoid his broken limb, and Jack cried out as he was flung over his father's shoulder._

"_Ya dumb shit. _Now_ I'm gonna have to take you to the hospital." _

_His father carried him through the front entrance of their building, and as he did so, he continued to talk._

"_You know what to tell them Jackie, don't you?"_

_Jack's head swam with the pain; he could barely think straight._

"Don't you, _Jackie-boy?" _

_And Jack nodded, weakly, tears continuing to fall from his eyes._

"_Y-yes S-Sir." He managed, his voice barely a whisper._

Batman could tell - from the look on Jack's face - that something terrible was going through his mind. That bringing out the blindfold had somehow triggered it.

Details weren't available to either him or Jeannie on what his father had _actually _done to him. It had only ever been known to her that the man would beat him frequently, a fact Jack couldn't really hide from her, and also verbally abuse him. But beyond that, she'd told Batman that Jack had always kept the nastier details to himself. Some days, she'd told him, Jack would come to school even more withdrawn than usual. He would barely speak a word, even to her, and she knew his father was behind it.

Batman had wanted to blindfold Jack to prevent him from seeing Wayne Manor. The Joker had long known the identity of the man behind the mask, and didn't seem to care; as far as the clown was concerned, the mask _was_ the man. But Jack wasn't the Joker. And Bruce Wayne was the most famous of all Gotham citizens. Batman had been active for less than a year when Jack disappeared, but Bruce Wayne, billionaire socialite and alleged playboy, was already a regular in the gossip columns by then. It seemed impossible that Jack hadn't heard of him, and seeing Wayne Manor might lead him to connect the two personas.

There was a less direct route to the cave, one which would take longer to get to but which kept the house from sight. Batman supposed he could take that route, thus sparing Jack the blindfold. The fear he saw in Jack's eyes told him it was the only feasible option.

He sighed, bringing his hand back and tucking the cloth in to his belt.

"Alright," he said flatly.

Jack looked up at him, surprised.

He'd been sure he wasn't going to have a choice, that this man was going to force the thing on him and do God knows what afterwards.

It occurred to Jack that it might be some kind of trick. His father had been adept at that; luring Jack into a false sense of security before slamming a fist into his face, or pushing him down the stairs. Even if it was, he didn't know what he could have done about it anyway.

Batman glanced back at him briefly, and Jack looked quickly away, focusing his eyes on the intricate display of instruments before him.

The vigilante thought the entire thing was surreal.

He was looking at the Joker, but in a way, it wasn't like looking at the Joker at all. When the Jack persona took over, the transformation was physical, manifest in the way he would carry himself, from the nervous look in his eyes to the way he spoke, forever braced against some real or imagined torment. Gone was the confidence and bravado of the Joker; the energy and surety of step. In his place was someone painfully shy and withdrawn, a boy almost; one who displayed physical maturity, albeit hampered by emotional retardation. The foremost sign of having been relentlessly abused. Curled in on himself, like a small creature trapped in a vise. The timbre of his voice was the same as the Joker's, but the clown spoke loudly, brashly, every utterance a grand and highly articulate proclamation. But Jack could barely speak at all; his voice was so quiet one had almost to lean in just to hear him, and he stuttered badly.

Batman better understood now why Jeannie had had so difficult a time accepting that her husband could have undergone such a radical transformation. There were no overt similarities between the two personalities.

Without saying a word, Batman put the car in drive and started on their way.

Several minutes passed in silence, the detective occasionally flicking a glance in the direction of his charge. Jack sat quietly, his hands curled in his lap, his eyes fixed there too. Bruce became sure the entire trip would be this way. So when Jack spoke, it caught him just slightly off guard.

"S-sir?" he asked softly, almost inaudibly.

Batman glanced at him, saying nothing. It was bizarre, being addressed as Sir, considering the Joker was three years his senior. But then, Jack still thought he was 24 years old, and he supposed it was his father who instilled in him the notion he should address physically bigger men as such.

Jack looked back nervously.

"Where are we going?"

Again Batman glanced at him before bringing his eyes back to the road.

"My home."

"… Oh." Jack said, looking away again.

Batman exhaled loudly.

"You don't have to call me that."

And Jack looked up, confused.

"Call you what, Sir?"

"You don't have to call me Sir."

Jack blinked, seeming further puzzled.

"… What should I call you then, Sir?"

It was like talking to a little boy in some ways, Batman thought. It was unnerving, how polite and soft-spoken he was. Seemed somehow unnatural, coming from a man he'd long considered his most dangerous enemy.

"Batman will do."

"Batman?" Jack asked.

"Yes."

For some seconds, Jack continued to look at him, wide eyed and interested, before finally he glanced away.

"I've heard of you, I think." He said. "H… haven't I? I thought he-heard about you…" His voice trailed off, sounding distant and distracted.

Batman's lip curled.

He kept forgetting who he was talking to. Forgetting that this was the same man he'd encountered fifteen years ago, at Ace Chemicals. The same man who'd stammered something his way before stumbling backwards, before hitting the railing of the walkway, which then gave way, and…

It all made sense now, didn't it? Why he'd been so unable to articulate himself before falling back in abject fear.

Batman had thought he was just another criminal; another thug who needed to be stopped.

He had no idea of who he'd _actually _been, that he'd had no business there; that he hadn't _chosen_ to be there.

Regardless, he'd reached out for him, but his timing was off by the slightest of margins. The man fell into the acid and was swept away into a waste pipe. Batman didn't think the man had even the remotest chance of survival, but regardless, he attempted to look for him afterwards. He found nothing, save for the man's red helmet.

He'd never forgiven himself.

True, Jack had survived. But Batman had never been able to shake the feeling that he'd inadvertently contributed to someone's 'death' that day, despite vowing never to kill. And by failing to act just a millisecond sooner, thus saving the Red Hood, he'd unleashed something infinitely more terrible on Gotham and her citizens.

He wondered what he might have done if things had gone differently. He couldn't see himself leaving Jack to the mercy of the police, not once he'd realized just how terrified he was. He could tell the difference between a bona-fide criminal and a patsy. Maybe he would have given him a stern talking-to. Maybe he would have driven him home after his ordeal. Maybe he would have found out more about his life. Maybe he would have helped him get an internship at Waynetech, paying for him to attend college on day release. Maybe …

Maybe he should say something; anything. But he didn't know what to say, so he just stayed silent, and so did Jack.

/

_His eyes moved nervously about the room, glancing fleetingly at the two other men there, sat in chairs opposite their own, their attention on their papers and briefcases. They didn't even seem to notice him, but still Jack's gaze fell quickly away, going to his lap._

_He felt her hand give his a gentle squeeze, reminding him she was there._

"_You okay?" He heard her ask softly, and he gave a weak nod._

"_It'll be okay Jack. I'm right here."_

_For a moment, he said nothing, blinking._

_And then he started._

"_Sh…should I have b-brought a briefcase too Jeannie?" He asked, eyes again flicking up to the two other men. _

"_Hmm?" She asked, not quite following._

"_Th… they have b-briefcases." He said, so quietly she almost didn't hear. "Am… am I supposed to too?"_

_Her eyes moved from him to the other two in the room, noticing then what he was talking about._

_She gave a light laugh._

"_No Jack. It's alright. A briefcase isn't required."_

"_Oh." He said. And then again fell silent._

_She could feel the tension in his hand, and gently she placed her other over it, leaning in close, whispering in to his ear._

"_Relax honey." She said. "It's going to be okay. I'm going to help you. Alright?"_

_Again he nodded._

_She'd hoped her presence would help calm him down, help him to be not so nervous, knowing how big a deal this was to him. When he'd told her his boss, Mr. Kawalski, had informed him of seeing an add in the paper for job openings as Ace Chemicals, and that he'd wanted Jack to try and apply, she'd been ecstatic for him, both because she realized someone besides herself had actually been kind to him, wanted to help him, and also because she'd thought this could be Jack's chance to really further himself, finally put to use his scientific brilliance, for the people who mattered in these things to finally see what he was capable of._

_Jack had been less optimistic, reminding her that, because he didn't have a college education, the chances of him getting to do any lab work were slim to none. She'd told him she realized that, but it would be good for him to at least be in an environment conducive to his talents, and that, if he worked hard enough, they'd eventually have to recognize his abilities. _

_Jack was always writing down equations, ideas popping in to his mind constantly for new compounds. He'd written a great many essays on the composition of various chemical components and their affects on numerous, biological life forms, the reaction of cellular structure to different chemical formulas. _

_It of course all went completely over her head, never really able to follow what the papers were talking about. But what she could make out was that Jack most belonged in a medical research department, given his sophisticated and deep understanding of both chemical and bio-genetic engineering, and how the two related to one another, affected one another._

_People who would understand needed to see his work._

_Jack couldn't type, a product of him lacking any sort of real, _practical _skill, save for cleaning. He knew how to clean, mainly because his father had forced him to always clean their apartment when he was still living with the man. But nothing really beyond that. So she'd typed out the essays for him, and then had had them bound so they could be presented to the head of Ace. Even if his resume was sparse, and he lacked a college education, they would quickly figure out how brilliant he was by reading his papers and she knew then they wouldn't hesitate in wanting him on board with their research department. _

_Jack just needed help expressing all this, so they could know how extraordinary he was, instead of getting caught up in his sometimes unusual manner._

_She was stirred from her thoughts by a door opening._

"_Jack Napier?" A woman called._

_Jack stiffened, looking up, saying nothing._

"_Right here." Jeannie said, beginning to stand, pulling Jack up gently by the arm._

_The woman looked quizzically at them, clearly wondering why she was there._

_She looked back to Jack._

"_Mr. Sullivan will see you now." She said._

_Jeannie stepped forward._

"_Is it alright if I come in with him?" She asked._

_The woman looked to her, her eyes narrowing slightly._

"_And who are you?" _

"_His wife. It's just…" Jeannie looked to Jack, who stood with his eyes fixed on the floor. "It would be better if I could accompany him."_

_The woman's gaze shifted back to Jack, eyeing him suspiciously. _

_He didn't look up._

"_I'll have to ask Mr. Sullivan." She said after a moment. _

_Jeannie nodded._

"_Okay. We'll wait."_

_The woman disappeared back through the door, and Jeannie leaned in close to Jack, standing up on her toes and whispering…_

"_It'll be okay."_

_He looked down at her, his expression anxious._

"_Do you think you'll be able to come in?" He asked, apprehensive._

"_I don't see why not." She answered, trying to sound reassuring. _

_She held on to his arm, hooking it around her own._

"_I hope you can come in." He said softly._

_She looked up at him, smiling, giving his arm a squeeze. _

_A moment later and the woman reappeared._

"_Mr. Sullivan says you both can come in." She said, and Jeannie felt Jack's frame slacken with the release of tension, exhaling shakily. _

"_Come on baby." Jeannie said, pulling him towards the office with her. And he allowed himself to be led. _

_The office was relatively large, though nothing over the top. _

_Jeannie and Jack were left standing by the door by the secretary, who closed it softly behind them._

_There was a man seated at a desk, his attention on something he was writing. _

_Jack didn't move, barely glancing up before his eyes went back to the carpet. _

_Jeannie took the initiative, clearing her throat to get the man's attention._

_He looked up, and Jeannie smiled at him._

"_Hi." She said, her arm still hooked around Jack's own. "My husband's here to see about your add for job openings in the Gazette." _

_The man said nothing for a moment, staring at her for several seconds before, finally, he blinked, his gaze shifting to Jack._

_The surprise in his eyes didn't escape Jeannie's notice, and she felt a mild shot of agitation._

_It seemed always to be the same with everybody. They always seemed so shocked when they found out the two of them were together, like they couldn't believe it._

_It made her mad._

_The man's attention on Jack didn't last long, his eyes quickly moving back to her, looking at her intently._

_Jeannie knew she was good looking, but it didn't make it any less annoying when men ogled at her. She supposed she'd been spoiled by Jack, by what a total gentleman he'd always been. When he gazed at her, it was never with anything but pure admiration. He wasn't seeing her as an object of desire, like so many guys she'd interacted with, he was seeing her as a friend, as a companion, someone he loved and cared about, and someone he knew loved and cared about him._

_It was ridiculous. Jack was good looking _too_. If people could just get past their initial, first impression of him, they would _see _that. _

_The problem was, Jack didn't _act_ like he was good looking. He acted just the opposite, because of how he'd been treated his whole life. Despite Jeannie's best efforts to make him see it, Jack wasn't at all aware of how good his features were._

_He'd called himself ugly one time, and she'd gotten extremely upset, lecturing him for nearly an hour on how that wasn't true. _

_But he hadn't seemed to be able to believe it._

"_Yeah. Take a seat." The man said, snapping her from her thoughts._

_She forced another smile, determined to be cordial, for Jack's sake, pulling him gently with her to the two chairs in front of the desk._

_Jack sat silently, his eyes trained down, on his lap._

_He felt a slight rush of panic as Jeannie reached her hand out to shake the man's. _

_He wondered if he was supposed to do the same, but his uncertainty kept him frozen in place. _

_The man's hand in front of him a moment later answered the question, and slowly Jack lifted his own, taking the offered hand and shaking it weakly. He stared, noticing how his hand seemed to engulf the other mans. _

_It struck him as strange, as the man's grip was so much stronger then his own._

_A moment later, and the man let go, sitting back down. _

"_So…" he began, his eyes moving back to Jeannie when he noticed Jack wasn't looking at him. He waited expectantly for them to introduce themselves._

"_I'm Jeanette Napier." Jeannie started. "And this is my husband, Jack." She looked to him._

_Jack remained quiet._

"_We saw your add in the paper…" she continued when she saw Jack wasn't going to speak. "We were wondering what job positions are open."_

"_Mmm. Well, let's see your resume first." Mr. Sullivan replied. _

_Again Jeannie looked at Jack, and Jack started, bringing the single sheet of paper up, handing it to the man._

_The resume wasn't at all a fair representation of Jack's capabilities. No one would have any idea of who he actually was from looking at it, having only held two jobs previously, neither of which said anything about him or what he could do._

_So even as Mr. Sullivan was taking out his reading glasses, Jeannie attempted to get his attention, placing the bound essays on the desk and pushing them forward._

"_Mr. Sullivan…" she began. "I'd like you to also take a look at these. I think you'll find my husband's knowledge of chemical engineering impressive and…"_

"_This is all you've got?" The man interrupted, looking up at Jack. "This is your entire resume?" _

_Jack swallowed, feeling his face flush in embarrassment._

_He nodded slowly._

"_Y-yes Sir." He said softly._

_Mr. Sullivan looked at him skeptically, his eyes narrowing._

"_Not very impressive kid. No college education?"_

_Jack shook his head, his eyes cast down._

"_And you've _only_ ever worked at these two places?" He looked down at the sheet in his hand. "Joe's Deli and a shipping yard?"_

_Again Jack nodded, his humiliation growing._

"_Mr. Sullivan…" Jeannie cut in again, and he looked to her. "With all due respect, what you're looking at doesn't begin to indicate what my husband is capable of. As I was saying, he's a _brilliant_ chemist. You need to read these…" again she slid the essays forward. "They'll give you an idea of what he can do. He'd be a great asset to your company, I assure you."_

_The man's eyes fell to the bound papers, silent for a moment._

_And then he looked back up at her, smiling._

"_Mrs…?"_

"_Napier." She said quickly._

"_Mrs. Napier." He continued. "We get a lot of this sort of thing here at Ace. A lot of people propositioning about what they can do, what they can bring to the company, but I'm afraid…" and now he looked back to Jack. "without proper qualifications, what work we have to offer will be limited to you. It says here you worked as a night janitor at this deli?" _

_Still Jack couldn't look up._

"_Y-yes… yes s-sir." He answered. "Mr… Mr. K-Kawalski's number is… is there. He said… said you could c-call him."_

"_Mr. Sullivan…" Jeannie again interjected, growing agitated at the man's seeming unwillingness to even consider Jack as part of their science department. "If you would just look at these essays, I think you would…"_

_Mr. Sullivan sighed, looking back to her._

"_Alright Mrs. Napier. I'll have a look at them." He said. _

_Jeannie could tell easily he'd only said it to shut her up, and she grew even more annoyed._

"_But as I was saying…" he continued. "With your husband's limited experience and lack of a higher education, I'm afraid the only position we would have open to him at this time would be as a night custodian." He looked at Jack again. "We haven't actually talked to anyone else about filling the position yet. The building's rather a large one, you see. It's not an easy job. You'd be here from about eight at night until about six the following morning, seven days a week."_

_Jack said nothing._

_He'd known this was going to happen. He'd tried to explain to Jeannie that they'd never offer him a position higher then what they were. But she'd insisted they at least try._

_But now he felt like such a failure, and in front of her too. _

_He hoped she wasn't angry at him for it._

"_Jack's an extremely hard worker." Jeannie spoke up, still frustrated, but realizing there really wasn't much she could do beyond making sure he didn't get jobbed. "What's the pay?"_

"_It's about $15.00 an hour." Mr. Sullivan said, glancing back at her. "Plus benefits. If your husband here thinks he's up to it, I can give his previous employers a call and then get back to you. Are you still under their employment Mr. Napier, or are you currently without a job?"_

_Jack's eyes flitted briefly up to him before again falling._

"_M-Mr. Kawalski said if… if it d-didn't work out I could… could keep my old job."_

_Mr. Sullivan nodded._

"_And your other job?"_

_Jack fell silent at the question, and Jeannie looked at him with concern. _

_She'd hoped this wouldn't come up. But it largely had been one of the reasons she wanted him to interview here. His job at Joe's Deli didn't pay enough to support them both, and her being pregnant, she couldn't herself go out and find work at the moment. _

"_Jack… had to quit his job at the ship yard." She said, realizing Jack wasn't going to answer._

"_Oh?" Mr. Sullivan turned to her, questioning in his eyes. "Why's that?"_

_She inhaled deeply, letting the breath go slow. She glanced at Jack, who sat stiff as a board, his eyes trained on his lap, hands curled in anxiety, like he always did when nervous or afraid._

_Slowly her eyes slid back to the man, feeling her own anxiety grow._

"_He was…" and a knot formed in her stomach, anger flaring at the memory of what had happened. "he was being harassed." She finally said. _

"_Harassed?" The man sounded confused._

"_Some of…" her hands curled in to fists. "some of the other men were bullying him. Making threats."_

_That was understating it. But she knew how embarrassed Jack was over it, how embarrassed he no doubt was now, and so she'd refrained from going in to detail. It was true the other workers at the ship yard had been bullying Jack, which she hadn't found out about until that time she'd gone to see him, to tell him she was pregnant. But the harassment had gotten decidedly worse over the last, few weeks. When Jack had come home one afternoon with his face bruised and bloodied, and his clothes torn up, that's when she'd made him quit. _

_They'd beaten him up, the _bastards_, cornered him near the end of his shift, dragged him out behind one of the warehouses and pummeled him._

_He hadn't even _done_ anything to them. They'd just decided they were going to hurt him because they _could_. Because they _wanted_ to. All because he wasn't like _them_. Wasn't a _pig_ like them! _

_Jeannie could feel her skin burning with rage as she thought of it._

_She'd wanted to bring a lawsuit against the company, but they didn't have the money, and Jack had just wanted to forget about it, pretend as though it had never happened. He'd been so humiliated._

_She'd tried telling him he shouldn't be, but it had been like pulling teeth, getting him to tell her what had happened. If he could barely admit it to her, there was no way he was going to be able to admit to it in front of a group of strangers._

"_Oh I see." Mr. Sullivan said softly, his previously skeptical expression softening. He glanced to Jack, his eyes drifting over him, really observing him. The kid looked like a prime candidate for that sort of thing, he realized. He was certainly awkward, maybe a bit slow, going by how little he spoke, how much difficulty he had with it, and how he couldn't seem to look you in the eye. He thought he could see a fading bruise along the left side of his jaw. And suddenly he felt very bad for him._

"_Well look…" he started. "I'll give Mr. Kawalski a call. But from what I've heard, you sound like you'd be good for the job, as long as you're interested. So what do you say Mr. Napier? You think you'd like the position?"_

"_Y-yes. Yes Sir." He said. "V-very much."_

"_There won't be many people around at night." The man warned. "It'll just be you most of the time. Is that alright?"_

_Jack nodded._

"_Alright then. You should hear from my office in a few days time. But it's looking to me like it's a sealed deal." He said, standing._

"_You'll have a look at those?" Jeannie cut in, motioning towards the bound essays. _

_Mr. Sullivan glanced at them briefly, giving a nod. _

"_Yeah." He said dismissively, holding his hand out. "It was good talking with you both. Again, you'll hear from us in a few days about the job."_

_Jeannie felt her heart sink, knowing it wasn't very likely at all that he was going to even scan over Jack's work. But she didn't know what else she could do to convince him. She could only pray he would keep his word. If only he would read it, he would see Jack was a genius. _

_She stood, touching Jack on the shoulder to let him know he should too before taking Mr. Sullivan's hand and shaking it._

_The man offered his hand to Jack a moment late, and Jack shook it in return, his eyes still down._

_And then they left, together._

"_Once he sees your work Jack…" she'd whispered to him. "he'll want to hire you as part of their research department."_

_Jack hadn't said anything to that, only giving her a weak smile, and Jeannie had hated herself in that moment, knowing she'd lied to him._


	27. Chapter 27

**Hey guys, new chapter! So, this and the next chapter are both going to consist strictly of flashback sequences, and then after that, the flashbacks are pretty much finished, and the stories present plot line will move forward undistracted. Just thought I'd let you know. Also, for any readers of my other stories, such as "Limits", "Dreams of Yesterday", "Fire and Steel", "Night", etc… I promise that soon I'm going to be updating all of them and I'm sorry for the delays. I know I shouldn't start so many stories at once. Ideas just pop in to my head and I feel the need to write them down. But those stories will be updated. **

**Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter and remember, reviews are highly appreciated.**

**Oh, and one more thing. I drew a picture of Jack, which you can see here at these three links. Just copy and past them in to your address bar and get rid of the spaces. I imagine this is a picture that Jeannie took of Jack, as he would only look so relaxed around her, I figure: **

**http : / / i48 . photobucket . com / albums / f237 / llamalouie 21 / AloneJack001 - 1 . jpg**

**http : / / i48 .photobucket . com / albums / f237 / llamalouie21 / AloneJack020 - 1 . jpg**

**http : / / i48 . photobucket . com / albums / f237 / llamalouie21 / AloneJack008 - 1 . jpg**

**Chapter 27:**

_It was early evening, most of the plants employees having since gone home, and he found himself on the building's uppermost floors, where the offices were located._

_He was going through each, emptying out trash bins and going over the furniture with a duster. _

_He hadn't at all expected to open the door at the end of the hall and find a group of five men, all gathered beside a white board, arguing raucously. _

_The moment he'd opened the door and taken a step through the threshold, the men had stopped, all eyes turning towards him, and he'd frozen, staring back, anxiety moving up in the pit of his stomach. _

_There was usually no one here at night, and if there was, he was rare to encounter them. _

_They looked angry._

"_Who are you?" One of them snapped, and quickly he averted his gaze to the floor. _

"_I-I'm… I-m…" He tried, his voice suddenly lost to him. _

"_He's that new janitor…" One of them said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "Just ignore him."_

_Only a moment more would pass before they did just that, turning back towards one another and resuming their heated argument. _

_Relief washed through Jack, grateful they'd stopped looking at him, and as quietly as he could, he pulled his cart behind him, moving about the room, emptying the trash cans and wiping down shelves. _

_As he did so, he couldn't help overhearing the men's conversation. Usually he'd do a good job of blocking out that sort of thing. He wasn't one to eavesdrop, knowing it wasn't his place. _

_But he realized quickly that these men were chemists at the plant, and they were discussing their work. _

_And talk of chemical composition was something Jack could never, really ignore. He would become almost obsessive about it, insatiably fascinated with how to get a certain reaction by creating the right formula, altering and mixing together chemicals to create a totally new and unique one. _

_Unconsciously, he'd slowed his progress through the office so he could listen in._

"_It just isn't _working_ Paul!" One of the men spit in exasperation. "We've tried it every which way, and it just isn't yielding the desired results!"_

"_Well I just don't understand!" The other man, Paul, answered, equally as frustrated. "It should work! We've checked all the components, and on paper, it looks correct!"_

"_Well it doesn't translate! It doesn't work. We've _tested_ it." One of the others stepped in. "This whole thing is a disaster! We've been trying for months to make this work, and I'm sorry to say gentlemen, but I'm beginning to think it just isn't possible…"_

"_But it _has_ to be!" Another said. "You heard the boss! If we can make this work, it'll finally give Ace the edge it needs to compete with those shmucks over at Wayne Labs! Hell, if we could make this work, we'd be ahead of all the competition! It shouldn't even be that difficult! I mean, essentially, it's just an anti-aging skin cream! How many of those are on the market?"_

"_Countless Stan. But none that actually _work_. None that actually restore the skins cells to full health. The data says it should be possible, but everything we've tried has failed. We've been working on this for _months_and the most we've been able to come up with is a cream which does little more to restore firmness then if you were to put fucking cucumbers on your eyes!" _

_A kind of silence fell between the men, their appearances haggard and exhausted. Clearly, they'd had enough._

"_I say we just give this up." The first man said. "We've wasted enough time and energy and _money_on something which clearly just isn't possible. We keep this up, and the boys over at Wayne Labs won't have to worry about competing with us anymore because we won't _exist_!"_

_Jack hadn't been able to help glancing up at that point, overcome by his own curiosity, nearly forgetting his duties as custodian. _

_He looked on the white board the men were seated beside, taking in the formula written there, and it was immediately he could see what they were doing wrong. _

_If there was anything which could overcome Jack's usually crippling shyness, it was his love of science, the one thing which had always been able to draw out of him a modicum of confidence, of sureness in his actions. _

_It was when discussing these sorts of things, and only when, that Jack had really been able to speak up in front of people, to say what he was really thinking, Jeannie being the exception. _

_He felt comfortable around her only because he knew she wouldn't judge him._

"_T-the foundation i-is… is incorrect." He said, his voice soft, almost inaudible. If the other men hadn't fallen quiet, his words would have been lost in the noise. _

_Only when they turned towards him, expressions confused, did he realize he'd spoken aloud, and almost instantly he felt his throat restrict with nervousness. _

"… Excuse _me?" One of them asked, his tone condescending. _

_Jack blinked, his eyes quickly fixing on the carpeted floor. _

"Idiot_." He thought, horrified. "_Why did you do that_?" _

"_Hey!" One of the chemists called. "What did you just say?" _

_They sounded angry, annoyed, and Jack knew if he didn't answer them, they would only become more so. _

_And then he might lose his job. _

_The only job he had._

_And Jeannie was already four months pregnant. _

_If he lost their only income, he'd never forgive himself, and he was sure Jeannie would never forgive him either. How could she? _

_He couldn't mess this up. _

_They were already struggling. _

"_The… t-the foundation is i-incorrect …" He stammered. "The formula isn't wo-working because… b-because your building it up from a… a false base, and that's c-corrupting the w-whole of it."_

_The men all stared at him, saying nothing for several seconds, puzzlement across their faces._

_And then one of them burst out laughing._

"_G-get a load of this guy!" He exclaimed. "I guess it must be amateur hour. Listen kid, I know you must have read some books on chemistry or whatever, guess you must have thought you had to spruce up, working in a chemical plant and all, and you probably think that qualifies you to read complex formulas now…" He chuckled. "But believe me when I tell you, it _doesn't_…"_

_Jack felt his face flush, embarrassed, despite knowing the man was wrong. _

"_I think you should just stick to what your doing and finish taking out the garbage. Okay?" Another said, amused. _

_Jack could hear Jeannie's voice in his head, telling him he needed to stop letting people dictate to him, that he shouldn't listen to them when they told him he couldn't do something. _

_He could hear her telling him to _prove _them wrong._

"… _I'm… I'm n-not wrong…" He said, quietly. _

_And without really thinking, he began towards them, awkwardly and stiff._

_They watched him, continuing to smile and chuckle, wondering what he was doing. _

_He was so _strange_ looking, they thought. Toweringly tall and lanky, but hunched forward, stooped and curled in on himself, his head bowed, almost neutralizing his height, making what normally would be intimidating seem hampering and almost comical. He looked like you could knock him over with a strong breeze, skinny as a broom stick, narrow. _

_And he dressed like a nerd. Even amongst their crowd, he stuck out like a sore thumb._

_It seemed someone had forgotten to remind him that it was the 90s. _

_Nobody dressed like that anymore. _

_As he moved closer, coming to a stop just in front of the board, they continued to gaze at him in humor. _

"_Hey kid, what are you doin', huh?" One of them asked, trying to suppress his laughter. _

_It turned out he wouldn't have to, his mirth stopped for him as Jack picked up the eraser and began running it over the board, wiping out the formula there. _

"_What are you…! What the hell are you _doing_?" The man cried, quickly followed by similar words of alarm from the other scientists. _

"_Stop it! Stop it, you're… you're ruining it!"_

_But by then, it was too late, Jack had already undone the entire formula and picked up a marker, beginning to write._

"_I'm gonna have your job, you little bastard!" Steve spit! "You hear me? I'm gonna have you out on your ass so fast, it'll make your head spi…"_

_Jack finished writing, staring at what he'd put down only briefly before it dawned on him what he'd just done, and he dropped the marker, stepping backwards, stumbling away. _

_It was only then he seemed to notice the enraged voices around him, and he shook his head._

_The formula was right. It would work. He knew it would. But it didn't matter. He'd made them mad, he'd messed up…_

"_I-I'm s-sorry… I'm s-sorry…" He muttered, falling back. "I… I didn't…"_

"_Get OUT of here!" Steve spit. "You fucking IDIOT! Get OUT!"_

_Jack didn't need to be told again, turning and practically running from the room, barely remembering to grab his cart on the way out, his heart pounding in his chest, fear gripping him as he realized just how huge a mistake he'd just made. _

"_AND DON'T BOTHER COMING IN TO WORK TOMORROW!" Steve yelled after the door had closed behind him, glaring at it. _

"_Hey… Hey Steve…" _

"What_?" The man spit, spinning to look at Paul. _

"_I think maybe you should look at this…"_

_Steve's eyes moved from the other scientist after a long moment, to the board. _

"…_I think this might actually _work_…" _

_Steve's eyes narrowed, for the first time really looking at the formula written there, and the shock was such, it was as though he'd just been slapped across the face._

"… _Holy shit." He breathed, his voice a whisper._

_/_

_Jack had abandoned the cart halfway down the hall, half running, half stumbling from it, feeling on the verge of a panic attack, his breath coming rapid and shallow, his head spinning, sure he was going to faint._

_He'd ruined everything… _everything_._

_Just like he always did._

_Because he was a loser…_

_That's all he was…_

_All he'd ever be…_

_Turning a corner, he moved towards what he knew to be a utility closet._

_He just wanted to hide, to get away, so no one could see…_

_He opened it as quickly as he could, slipping inside and closing the door behind him, finding himself enveloped in darkness. _

_He groped forward, planting his hands against a wall, turning and falling against it, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor._

_He brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his face against them. _

_He'd lost his job… He'd lost his only means of supporting Jeannie… and the baby. _

_They had no money saved. _

_They'd barely been getting by on what meager wages he'd been earning._

_And now they didn't even have that._

_All because he didn't know when to shut up, didn't know how to… how to talk right… to do _anything_right._

_Tears threatened at the backs of his eyes as he thought of Jeannie's disappointment._

_She'd stuck with him through all of his fuck ups, something he still couldn't understand why, but this was too much… too much… _

_She'd told him before that she could get work and easily support the both of them, but he'd been insistent, telling her he could get a job, that he'd be able to take care of her…_

_But he _couldn't_. _

_He couldn't even take care of himself! And now Jeannie was in no condition to work. _

_She'd relied on him to keep his promise, and he'd let her down._

_He curled more tightly in on himself, tears now streaking, hot down his face._

_He couldn't understand why God had made him this way._

_Why God hated him so much…_

_/_

"_Roger!" The five men burst through his office door, unable to contain their excitement. "Roger, you have to see this!"_

_The company head glanced up, seeing them walking fast towards his desk, and sighed. _

"_Chris, I'm gonna have to call you back." He said warily in to the receiver. "Yeah, okay. That's good. I'll talk to you then. Alright."_

_He hung the phone up, looking with mild annoyance at the group of chemists._

"_This had better be good gentlemen. That was our _supplier_ on the phone, and…"_

"_It works!" Paul cut him off. "The formula _works_! We were able to create a cream which literally restores skin cells, makes them healthy again!"_

"_Whoa, whoa, whoa… hold on a second." Roger put his hands up. "Just _yesterday_ you were telling me you'd reached a dead end, that you didn't think it was even possible anymore…"_

"_That was yesterday Sir. But it works! It really works! And look! Not just over time, the stuff is almost instantaneous! Watch this!"_

_The man pulled a small container of a white, regular looking cream from his pocket, popping the lid and dabbing a small amount on to his finger. Carefully he applied it to the outside corner of his eye, spreading it out. _

"_Just give it a second."_

_The company head watched, his expression bored and unconvinced, growing more skeptical as several seconds past without event. _

_And then, almost like some kind of bizarre illusion, the crow's feet which shown so visibly on the middle aged scientists skin vanished, completely disappeared, in their place completely smooth, firm looking skin._

"… _What the hell!" Roger exclaimed, standing. "How did…?" _

"_Can you believe it Roger!" One of the others nearly shouted. "This is gonna put us on the _map_! I mean, well, the only roadblock being, it might be too expensive to actually produce and also yield a profit. That's the only problem."_

"_Well I don't understand." The company head went on. "How did you do this? You were telling me it was hopeless last night, before I left. So what changed? Which one of you figured it out?"_

_The men fell silent then, glancing at one another. _

_Paul cleared his throat._

"_Well you see, that's the thing Roger…" He started. "_None_ of us did." _

_Roger's eyes narrowed._

"_What do you mean?"_

"_It wasn't us Sir." Steve answered. "We didn't come up with the formula."_

"_Well then who _did_?" Their employer was beginning to lose his patience._

_And again they all glanced at one another._

"_It was…" Paul shook his head. "You're not gonna believe this… but it was that new janitor you hired, a few months ago. That tall kid, the one who never talks, looks like he's scared of his own shadow…"_

_The look on Roger's face was purely incredulous then, and he leaned back._

"_Jack Napier?" He questioned, clear disbelief in his voice. _

_Paul nodded._

"_Yeah. That's the one."_

_Roger laughed._

"_You gotta be putting me on. _Jack Napier_? I can barely get that kid to put two coherent sentences together. Hell, I didn't even want to hire him to clean the damn place, strange as he is, but that wife of his was beautiful and she swore to me he'd do a good job, so I figured why the heck not."_

"_It's no joke Sir." One of the others cut in. "We were in one of the offices last night, screaming at each other because we couldn't make it work, and that kid walks in on us and tells us what we're doing wrong before proceeding to write out the correct formula on the board."_

"_He's a God damn genius Roger." Paul cut in. "We've been trying to make this work for months and weren't getting anywhere. This guy, Napier, he takes one look at what it is we're doing, hears what it is we're trying to accomplish, and figures it out in ten seconds flat."_

_The company head blinked at them, trying to wrap his mind around what it was they were telling him._

_It seemed impossible._

_When Jack Napier had come to him for a job interview, he'd pegged the kid for being semi-retarded, what with the way he constantly stuttered and could never seem to look you in the eye. He'd really thought there was something wrong with him._

_But he'd had that woman with him, claiming to be his wife. How that was possible, Roger didn't know. She was way out of his league. But that had been her story, and she'd reassured him that Jack was actually an incredibly hard worker, took direction well and would be an asset to the company. _

_Thinking back on it, he remembered her mentioning something or other about him and chemistry, though he couldn't really remember what. He hadn't been paying too much attention, distracted by his seemingly ever increasing workload. _

_At the time, they'd been looking to fill the position of a night custodian, and that was it. _

_When he'd asked Jack about any previous work experience, the boy had told him he'd had a job cleaning a deli at night, and that he could call his former employer for a recommendation. _

_So he'd hired him, thinking nothing of it._

_But now his lead researchers were telling him the kid was a _genius_? That he'd come up with an anti-aging skin cream that actually _worked_ in a matter of seconds. _

_He could hardly believe it._

"_Well where is he?" He asked, finally snapping from his memories._

_Once more the men looked around at each other, nervously this time. _

"_Well… that's the thing Sir." Steve began. "We kind of… _yelled_ at him after he erased the work we had up on our board and… well… I think we scared him pretty good. We tried finding him after we saw that he'd actually written out what looked like a legitimate formula, but we couldn't. We just found his cleaning cart abandoned in the middle of a hallway on the upper floors."_

_The company head couldn't hide the flash of agitation from his eyes, and his hands came up, rubbing at his temples. _

"_You _yelled_ at him?" _

_The men nodded shamefully. _

"_Great…" Roger sighed. "That's just fucking peachy. He probably thinks he's gonna lose his job now!"_

"_We're… we're sorry Roger. We just… we didn't know…"_

_Roger waved a hand._

"_Well how could you? The guy doesn't exactly _exude_ brilliance. And he made no mention on his application of having any kind of lab experience or even college education."_

_He shook his head._

"_If he doesn't come in tonight, I'll just have to call his home and arrange a meeting with him."_

_The scientists nodded, relieved _they_ hadn't lost their jobs._

_Roger continued shaking his head._

"_Unbelievable. We've got a freakin' _genius_on our hands, finally the edge we've been looking for, and we scare him the hell off!"_

_/_

_Jack had come in to work the following night only because he hadn't known what else to do. Jeannie had been able to see something was wrong with him. She always did. But he'd been too afraid to admit to her what had happened, afraid she would be angry with him. _

_And he was scared too he'd made her upset anyway. She'd gone quiet when he refused to talk, the way she sometimes did, before telling him "fine" and "if you don't want to talk, I can't make you.", before excusing herself to bed. She hadn't spoken another word to him all night._

_He'd wanted to ask her if she was mad at him, to tell her he was sorry if she was, that he hadn't meant to upset her. It was just, he knew he'd screwed up and was sure she would hate him if she found out what he'd done. _

_He hadn't been able to work up the courage to talk to her for the rest of the night, and eventually, he'd heard her steady breaths, and known she'd fallen asleep. _

_He hadn't been able to sleep though, and was now coming up on 28 hours without real rest. His head throbbed in pain, his lids heavy and limbs like lead._

_His keys had still worked when he tried them at the back exit of Ace, as did the security code to turn off the alarm system, and for a brief moment, he entertained the thought that perhaps they hadn't fired him, that he hadn't lost his and Jeannie's only income and he wouldn't have to tell her eventually that because he was a loser, they now had no money and would soon be out on the street, her six months pregnant, he with no answer of how to support her. _

_His hope died quickly when he'd been tapped from behind on the shoulder, and he was met with Mr. Sullivan's secretary. _

"_You're wanted in Mr. Sullivan's office right away." She said._

_And he knew then he was finished. Mr. Sullivan wasn't even usually here when he came in, having gone home at least an hour before. Jack thought now he must have waited for him to show up, just to explain to him what a screw up he was, yell at him before telling him he was fired and that he never wanted to see his face again._

_And Jack wouldn't have been able to blame him._

_He'd never been able to even get hired. Anyone who ever had hired him had done so out of pity, he knew. And he'd proven already, even then, he couldn't hold a job._

_Oh God, why did he have to be this way? Why couldn't he just be… be normal?_

_His heart pounded relentlessly in his chest as he froze outside Mr. Sullivan's office door, his eyes fixing hard on the carpet beneath. He felt suddenly dizzy, nauseous even. Like he was going to pass out._

_He wished he could just disappear, melt away in to nothing… not have to face this… face the fact he'd screwed up Jeannie's life. Just like… just like his father had told him he would._

_His hand rested on the door's knob, and inadvertently, he gripped it tighter, trying to imagine himself away, his eyes squeezing tightly shut._

_If he just thought hard enough, if he could just focus…_

"_Mr. Sullivan will _see _you now." His thoughts were broken by the secretary's impatient voice, and he started, looking back over at her briefly. _

_There was clear disapproval in her eyes, and quickly Jack averted his gaze again to the floor._

_Seconds more past before he finally turned the handle, pushing open the door and shuffled in to the room. _

_He couldn't even glace up at Mr. Sullivan, who he knew was seated at his desk. His humiliation over his own stupidity burned too deeply, and without a word, he stood in the middle of the office, his hands curling tight at his sides, the pace of his heart quickening more still._

"_Jack…" the older man began. "Sit down please."_

_Wordlessly, Jack did as he was told, his anxiety rising with each moment past, his gaze continuing to fix down. _

_He felt faint as he lowered himself in to the seat situated in front of Mr. Sullivan's desk, the same one he'd sat in the day Jeannie had accompanied him here, the day she'd helped him get this job._

_And now he was going to lose it. And that he'd accomplished all on his own. No help required._

_He heard his employer sigh, and his hands curled in to fists in his lap._

"_I heard about what happened last night Jack." Mr. Sullivan spoke after a long moment._

_Jack's eyes closed. This was it._

_He thought about begging, pleading with Mr. Sullivan not to fire him. But what had that sort of thing ever accomplished for him in the past besides a more severe punishment? _

_So instead he said nothing, awaiting what he was sure was the inevitable, him again left with no solution out. _

_Oh god, when Jeannie found out, what was she going to say? What was she… she going to do? She'd be mad. So mad. Madder then she'd ever been. _

"_You wanna tell me about it?" The older man pushed when he saw Jack wasn't going to reply._

_And Jack's face turned away, humiliation burning at his cheeks._

"… _I'm sorry." Was all he could think to reply, his voice a nearly inaudible whisper. _

_Mr. Sullivan frowned, brow furrowing heavily._

"_Jack…" he began gently. "Don't be sorry. It's _me_who should be apologizing to _you_."_

"_E… excuse me S-Sir?" He started, glancing up, not quite sure he'd heard correctly. _

"_I'm sorry Jack." Mr. Sullivan said pointedly, looking seriously at the young man. "You tried to tell me about your abilities in the field of biochemical engineering, and so did your wife. And I didn't listen. I see now the error of that. I should know better then to judge things by appearance alone."_

_Jack blinked, confusion spreading through his mind._

_He didn't understand. Wasn't Mr. Sullivan mad? Wasn't he going to fire him? He'd messed up. He'd done something he wasn't allowed to, and now he was going to be punished. That was the way it worked. That was the way it always worked._

_Again, the older man sighed, leaning forward. _

"_Jack, listen to me son…" he continued, seeing the look of puzzlement and clear nervousness on Jack's face. "I've had a team of my top scientist's working on this anti-aging skin cream for the better part of _six months_, and they haven't gotten _anywhere_. Then seemingly out of no where, you walk in, figure out what they're doing wrong in five seconds flat, fix it, and come up with the correct composition to make it _work_. Now either you've got the luck of the Irish Jack, or you're a God damned _genius_. And call me crazy, but I think it's the latter's that's the more likely of the two."_

_Still, Jack stared blankly, still not sure of what he was hearing._

_Of course the formula had worked. He'd known it would work, but… but he'd done something he wasn't allowed to. He'd disobeyed. _

"_I… I'm s-sorry Mr. Sullivan." He stammered. "I… I didn't mean to… to interf-fere with your p… project. I'm sorry, it was..."_

_Mr. Sullivan shook his head._

"_Son, you aren't _hearing_ me." He cut him off. "What you did was good. I wish you'd shown me what you were capable of even _sooner_."_

"… _G-good?" Jack questioned. _

_The older man nodded._

"_Yes Jack. Good. You're a God damned genius, and I want to offer you a position on our team. With your kind of brains working for this company, there's no telling what we could accomplish. We'd finally have a leg up on that damn WayneCorp. I guarantee they don't have anyone like you working up there for em'."_

_That same dizziness returned, Jack's thoughts confusing in to an unorganized jumble._

"_Y… you're not f-firing me?" He asked softly, face lined in worry._

"_Fire you? No!" Mr. Sullivan laughed. "God no! I'm _promoting _you! Well, just as soon as we can get you your degree. But that's just a formality, really. I read your essays Jack. The ones you wrote, the ones your wife gave me. I promise, no college professor is going to teach you anything you don't already know. They'd be better off putting you in charge of the entire show." He chuckled. "Bottom line is, you'd have you're doctorate in probably two years, _max_. And that's me being conservative. I'd hire you on the spot right now, put you in charge of my whole team if there weren't laws about these kinds of things."_

_Jack couldn't really believe what he was hearing. Was Mr. Sullivan really offering him what he thought he was? _

_But then his brow furrowed as he remembered…_

"_I… I can't afford college Mr. Sullivan." He said quietly, eyes casting down. "I d-don't have any m… money."_

"_Don't worry about that." The older man shook his head. "We offer scholarships to men like you. We'll _fund_ your way through college Jack. As smart as you are, you'll earn us back what we put in to you within six months."_

_Jack didn't know what to say. This was… _

_Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. No one had ever… ever offered to give him something… like this._

_He knew if he could just get a job working in a lab, if he could put his understanding of chemistry and biology to use, he could maybe get he and Jeannie out of the Narrows finally. Could finally give Jeannie the life she deserved. And maybe then thing wouldn't be so bad. Maybe they wouldn't be so hard…_

_But he felt his heart sink as he thought of what it would take. It was as Mr. Sullivan said. No one was going to offer him a position in any science department anywhere if he didn't have the necessary qualifications. That meant a college degree. _

_And college… all of those _people_… _

_He felt his anxiety rise at just the thought of having to interact with them, imagining their laughter and repulsion when they saw what a freak he was, what a nothing… _

_He'd only ever made it through middle and high school because Jeannie had been there to help him. If she hadn't, he didn't know what he would have done. He'd felt like he was suffocating when she wasn't there, like he was drowning. _

_People only ignored him when Jeannie was there, usually too focused on her, on how beautiful she was to really pay him any mind. When she wasn't though… that's when they seemed to notice him… and all he ever knew of people noticing him was that it hurt. _

_He would be alone in college… with all those people. She wouldn't be there to help him. She'd already gotten her degree, already graduated. _

_Oh God, he was so confused._

_He didn't know what to do._

"_So what do you think Jack?" Mr. Sullivan asked when after a long moment, the young man hadn't yet spoken. "You think that's something you'd like to see happen? You'd be making a hell of a lot more money then you do now, I promise you that. And hey, if you want to keep this job as a means of income while you also attend college, that's fine too. Whatever works best for you."_

_Jack exhaled shakily, still staring down at his long hands._

_This was too much. He couldn't… he couldn't figure out what to do on his own. He didn't know what he _should_…_

_It was Jeannie. Jeannie was the one who made the decisions. The one who always knew what to do…_

"_C… can I talk to m-my wife?" He asked timidly. "I think I sh-should talk to her first."_

"_Yeah, sure. That's no problem." The older man nodded. "Whatever you need to do."_

_And Jack nodded in return, his eyes still fixed down._

"_Okay." He said softly._

"_But I want you to give this some serious consideration Jack." Mr. Sullivan went on. "This is a big opportunity for you. It could change your life son. Believe me. And I think that wife of yours is going to say the same thing. You don't belong sweeping floors Jack. You belong in a lab, pioneering in the scientific fields. I hope you realize that about yourself."_

_Jack only responded by again nodding, weakly, silently._

_Uncertainty gripped him, confusion. And suddenly, for a reason he couldn't understand, he felt very afraid. _

_Suddenly he felt like crying._

"_Can… can I start cleaning now?" He finally spoke._

_Mr. Sullivan's eyes narrowed, studying Jack closely a moment. _

_He could see the kid was struggling, for whatever reason. That he was worried about something. _

_After a moment, he gave a nod._

"_Yeah, go ahead." He said. _

_Jack gave a nod in return, quickly pushing himself to his feet, turning and heading for the door._

"_Jack!" Mr. Sullivan called out to him just before he'd reached it. _

_And Jack stopped, turning half towards his employer, head still bowed down._

"_Think about it seriously son. The offer is real. Talk with your wife if you have to. But just think about it seriously."_

_Jack stood still a long moment, not moving, his hand resting on the door's handle._

_And then he gave a single nod more, saying nothing as he turned, opening the door, disappearing through as he closed it behind him._

_/_

"_Hey there kiddo…" _

_He froze, his fingers gripping tight to the key, still in the lock. _

_He'd been coming out of the building, ready to head home for the night, finished with his cleaning duties. _

_But now he felt his heart beat faster, a sickening rush through his stomach, and his entire body go rigid with anxiety. _

… _kiddo…_

_His father… Oh God…_

_Slowly he turned, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, deafening almost, his eyes already squinting in anticipation of a blow he knew was coming._

_But it never did, and as he turned fully, he saw it wasn't his father at all, but a man he didn't recognize, dressed in a fine, Italian suit, a similarly fine bowler hat placed atop his head, a toothpick hanging loosely from his lip._

_He was smiling broadly, and Jack's first thought was that he looked out of place, in this part of town. That he looked well to do, rich._

_He blinked, staring at the man for a long moment, confused, until he realized what he was doing, and looked away._

_The man suddenly stuck his hand out._

"_My name's Charlie Zucko. But you can just call me Mr. Zucko." _

_He had a heavy, Italian-American accent, Jack noticed, and he was introducing himself, so that must have meant Jack had never met him before. _

_He wondered what it was he wanted then._

_Suddenly he remembered what Jeannie had told him about people holding their hands out to you, that you should always take them, so as not to seem rude. _

_Quickly he grabbed hold of the man's hand, shaking it lightly. _

_Mr. Zucko's smile grew. _

"_Listen, eh, you don't know me, but… I seen you hanging down by the LaughCo Comedy Club lately…"_

_At this, Jack glance up. _

"_Yeah, and I was wonderin', since I seen you down there, hangin' around near the back and all, maybe you're interested in a career as a comedian, eh?"_

_Jack was taken aback, not sure what to say, or how he should react. _

_How had this man known that about him?_

_Was he wrong, _had_ he met him before and he just couldn't remember?_

_He couldn't work out an answer. _

_Zucko continued to smile, seeing the clear confusion on Jack's face. _

_He'd been watching this kid the last three weeks, unbeknownst to him, of course. _

_And he'd spotted him for a mark right away, just seeing the way he interacted with people. _

_It was something he considered a talent, that ability to pick out the ones who'd he'd be able to fool, to draw in and trap. _

_And this kid, he almost laughed thinking about it, _this_ kid couldn't have been more perfect._

_Awkward, bad with communication, shy… _innocent_. He could see it a mile away. The kid was sheltered. Hadn't ever experienced the _real_ world, wasn't even savvy enough to know how to talk to people right. And so he wouldn't at all be wise to guys like _him_, or his kind of business. _

_All he had to do was see what kind of life he had, and decide based on that final factor whether he would make a suitable target. _

_And the more he observed of _Jack Napier_, the more he began to realize he couldn't have found anyone more ideal. _

_It would be like taking candy from a baby._

_He was working some dead end job as a custodian at Ace Chemical Factory, which just so happened to be situated in the same building as the playing card company he and his boys had been casing the last, few months. _

_Jack would have access to whatever security codes were in place for the building._

_And he knew the kid had a wife. Gorgeous little thing, she was. And she was _pregnant_. Which meant, likely, she wasn't working. Which meant they were desperate for cash. The fact that they lived in the Narrows was proof of that too. _

_And then he'd seen this kid hanging down by the comedy club, saw the look of longing in his eyes as he watched the comedians up on stage, the way he kept milling around near the back, looking around, obviously hoping to talk to somebody, to maybe see what it would take to get a gig there. _

_And that was the angle he was going to use. _

_Kids like Jack, innocent, sheltered kids, were impressionable, easily persuaded. _

_All he'd have to do is suggest to Jack, subtly, that he didn't need this dead end, back breaking job he had cleaning this chemical plant, suggest to him that, if he _really_ wanted to make it as a comedian, he'd have to dedicate himself to it completely, and that meant no distractions or outside obligations. Suggest to him that he should quit, thus killing any source of income. _

_He would tell him he could help him out too, that he could lend him some cash, just until he started making some dough._

_And when this kid bombed on stage, like he _knew_he would, because the kid was a complete wreck…that's when he'd call in the favor._

_Yes, indeed, Jack Napier was an ideal candidate for his kind of business._

_Zucko shrugged._

"_Course, I could be wrong, but I don't know, there's just somethin' about you kid. Somethin' that tells me you're a star just waitin' to be discovered."_

_He continued smiling, and Jack glanced back down._

"_Well it just so happens that I'm what you call a talent consultant. I help guys like _you _accomplish their dreams."_

"_A- a t-talent consultant?" Jack questioned._

"_Yeah! I go around lookin' for people who I think got potential to make it in showbiz, and I tell em' how to do it."_

_Jack remained silent, still not sure what to say._

"_So kid, you wanna be a comedian? Am I right?"_

_God, did he ever. It was something he'd dreamed about since he was a little kid, something he'd always wished he could do. _

_Jeannie had told him he could, told him he had real talent. And she always laughed whenever he performed for her. But even still, he'd had trouble believing it. He knew it was different for him in front of other people, that he just wasn't the same around them as he was around her._

_Slowly he nodded._

"_Ah, see, I _knew_ it. Can I spot em' or what?" Zucko exclaimed, as though excited. _

"_I… I c-can't afford any kind of… of s-service…" Jack muttered quietly._

"_Hey, that's okay kiddo!" Charlie__ went on. "My services are free of charge!"_

"_F-free?" Jack asked._

_Zucko nodded._

"_Yup!"_

"_B-but how… h-how do you… do you s-stay in b-business then?"_

"_Well, see, that's where this talent of mine pays off kiddo. I got an eye for the one's who're gonna make it, gonna be big. And once they do, well, then I get a small percentage of whatever money they make being famous! I've got like a, 95% success rate, so as you can imagine, I'm doin' pretty well for myself, considerin' almost all my clients end up bein' rich!" _

_Suddenly it dawned on Jack._

That's _why this man was dressed so nicely. He _was_well to do, and it was all because he was an advisor to some very successful people. _

"_You ever hear of Eddie Murphy?"_

_Jack looked up at him, his eyes wide._

"_Yeah! I discovered that guy, showed him the ropes, eventually led him to his first audition on SNL."_

"_R-really?" Jack asked, astonished. _

_Zucko nodded enthusiastically. _

"_Ah huh! And believe me when I tell you kid, I see the same kinda ability in you as I saw in Eddie. You got that same potential."_

"_R-really?" Jack again replied, looking down. _

"_Yeah! All you needs is a little… direction. A little help."_

_Jack couldn't believe this._

_Was this… was this really happening? Was something actually going _right_ in his life. Was someone actually trying to _help_ him?_

"_Say, what's your name anyway kid?" _

"_J-Jack…" He answered softly. "Jack N-Napier."_

"_Ahh, an _Irish _boy then!" Zucko said excitedly. "Even better. Luck of the Irish!" He nudged Jack lightly on the shoulder, laughing._

_Jack inadvertently flinched at the contact._

_Mr. Zucko pulled his hand away, still smiling, then reached in to his jacket pocket, retrieving a card._

"_Here ya go Jack…" He said, handing it to him. And Jack took it nervously, glancing at it._

"_That's got all my contact information on it. So, when you feel like talkin', just give me a ring, and we'll discuss how to get you started in the biz!"_

_Jack looked up at him briefly, Zucko giving him his most reassuring smile. _

"_No pressure." He went on. "Whenever you feel ready to make that leap, get out from under this…" he glanced up at the building, then back at Jack. "menial job you're workin' here."_

_Jack's eyes had gone big in wonderment, and a kind of shock, and he found himself totally lost for words. _

"_Oh, and one last thing Jack…" Charlie went on. "For now, let's just keep this between you and me, alright? Don't go tellin' nobody."_

_Jack blinked, looking back down to the card in his hand, then back up at Mr. Zucko._

"_W-why not?" He asked._

_And Mr. Zucko grinned._

"_Ehh, you know kiddo, I'm superstitious." He laughed lightly. "Just don't wanna jinx anything before we can get it off the ground, ya know?"_

_Jack said nothing._

"_Well, I better be goin'." Charlie continued. "Wife and kids at home, you know the drill. But I'll be waitin' for that call, kay Jack?" _

_He looked up at the man, nodding vaguely._

_It all seemed so surreal to him._

_Zucko gave him one last smile, nodding before turning on his heel, disappearing in to the night._

_Jack continued to look after him for a long, few minutes, and then back down at the card in his hands. _

_All it had was the man's name and a phone number. Nothing else. _

_And as Jack continued to stare at it, for the briefest of moments, he actually allowed a feeling of hope to work its way in to his heart. _

_Maybe… maybe this could happen. _

_Maybe he wasn't so useless._

_Maybe he could find a way to support Jeannie, and the baby, to get them out of here._

_To keep them safe._

_Maybe, for once, something was actually going to go _right_._


	28. Chapter 28

**Long chapter again guys.**

**Just in case you guys didn't see the links to the picture I drew of Jack, here they are again:**

******http : / / i48 . photobucket . com / albums / f237 / llamalouie 21 / AloneJack001 - 1 . jpg**

**********http : / / i48 .photobucket . com / albums / f237 / llamalouie21 / AloneJack020 - 1 . jpg**

**************http : / / i48 . photobucket . com / albums / f237 / llamalouie21 / AloneJack008 - 1 . jp**

**************Just post them in your address bar and get rid of the spaces.**

**Chapter 28:**

_They'd all been screaming, all at once. _

_He hadn't been able to understand what they were saying. _

_The man to his right was shouting too, and he'd looked to him, confusion in his eyes. And that's when something hard and wet had hit the side of his face, and his skin had begun to sting. _

_He'd looked back to the audience, and been met with an onslaught of rotten fruit and vegetables. _

_But still he'd continued to stand there, covering up, his arms over his head, and that's when the man to his right had run on to stage with him, grabbing hold of him and yanking him off. _

"_What are you? Stupid?" He'd screamed in his face. "Why the hell were you just standing there?" _

_He hadn't had an answer really, just staring back._

"_I…" He tried. "I wasn't finished." _

_The man had stared at him with incredulous eyes, before shaking his head. _

"_Ya fuckin' dummy. They didn't WANT you to finish. Don't you get that? They were booin' you. Don't you know what that means?" _

_He'd only looked back, blankly. _

_And again the man shook his head, taking hold of his arm, shoving him towards the clubs back entrance._

"_Get outta here kid. You ain't got what it takes."_

_He'd stood there on those back steps for a long time, staring down at his feet._

_He didn't understand. He didn't know what had happened._

_He'd performed that entire routine for Jeannie, and she'd loved it. She'd been laughing so hard she couldn't breathe, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes, her arms wrapped around her stomach as she doubled over in hysterics. _

_But when he'd gotten up there… when he found himself in front of all those people, staring at him, expecting him to make them laugh… he'd just frozen. The inside of his mouth had gone dry, his throat tightening. _

_He'd tried to start, tried to begin his routine, but it had come out all wrong, his delivery stiff and un-emotive. Barely a minute in and the people had started yelling, their faces contorting in disgust and hatred._

_The wind now whipped in his face and he looked up._

_How long had he been standing here?_

_His eyes drifted to the sky. There was cloud cover, blotting out the moon, making it darker._

_He had to get home, he realized. Jeannie would be getting worried if he stayed out too long._

_He glanced down at his watch. Jeannie had made him start wearing one, telling him he needed it since he had so much trouble with keeping time. He realized then he'd been there for well over half an hour. _

_He shook his head, jumping down the stairs. _

_If he hurried, he could still catch the eleven o'clock subway. _

_He walked fast, holding his arms across his body in an attempt to keep warm. He'd left his jacket back at the club, but he didn't have time to go back for it. He had to get back to Jeannie. The wind was picking up, making it colder, and he ducked his face down, trying to protect it from the biting air._

_The streets in the Narrows were mostly empty this time of night, the only sound that of his footsteps and the trash as it dragged along the pavement. _

_It was as he turned the corner, on to Apax, that he was stopped by the sound of a man's voice. _

"_Hey there Jack…" _

_He looked up, stopping cold. _

"_Mr. Zucko?" He started, confused. "W-what are you doing here?" _

_The older man grinned at him, moving the toothpick his held in his mouth back and forth with his tongue. _

"_Well Jack…" He took a step towards him, reaching up and taking the bowler hat from his head. He was standing under a streetlamp, one of the few which wasn't broken or burnt out in this area, and Jack could now see the long, pink scar which ran down from the man's forehead, over his eye and beneath it. "I just came from the comedy club, like yourself. I was there to catch your act." _

"_You…" Jack started, but he was cut off._

"_I have to say, Jack, that wasn't very… _impressive_." Zucko shook his head. "Terrible, really." _

_Jack said nothing, swallowing, his eyes flitting to the pavement below. _

_Again Zucko stepped towards him, and now there was only a few feet of space between them._

"_Got me wonderin' Jack. How, _exactly_, are you planning on paying back all that _money _you borrowed from me, huh?"_

_Jack looked up at him briefly before again looking back down. _

"_Cause, uh, it sure don't look like you're gonna be makin' any doe doin' what your doin'. You know what I'm sayin'?" _

"_You… you said I could… could take as long as I n-needed." Jack stumbled._

_Zucko chuckled._

"_Well, that's before I found out you didn't have no job, Jack. That promise only holds true if I know you got an income to pay me back _with_. Otherwise, how do I know you ain't just jerkin' me along, huh?"_

"_I-I'm _not_ Mr. Zucko." Jack answered, still looking to the ground. "I promise I'm not. I'll… I'll have the money. I just… I just need a little time is all."_

"_Ahh, Jack, my boy, I can't tell you _how_ many times I've heard those exact words, only to have the guy try and skip town on me the very next day."_

_Jack shook his head._

"_I won't Mr. Zucko. I promise I won't." _

"_A promise ain't good enough Jack." Zucko said. "I need some kinda insurance. Some kinda guarantee." _

_The sound of a switchblade flipping open drew Jack's eyes up finally, and for the first time he felt very real fear, seeing the blade in Zucko's hand. _

"_If you ain't gonna be able to pay me back in cash, and I gotta tell ya kiddo, it ain't lookin' like you are, then I gotta get my money's worth somehow, capich?" _

"_P-please Mr. Zucko, I just… I just need a little more t-time." Jack pleaded, inadvertently taking a step backwards._

"_Mmm, you've had two months already kiddo. Time's up, I'm afraid."_

_And now Mr. Zucko was coming towards him, the knife held loosely in his hand as he waved it back and forth. _

_Jack took another step back before panic took hold and he did the only thing he could think to. _

_He turned and ran._

"_You're only makin' this harder on yourself Jack!" He heard Zucko yell out after him. _

_But he didn't care. He just kept going, only halting when another man appeared, twenty meters ahead, stepping from behind a building._

_He stalled only a moment before turning in another direction. _

_He looked over his shoulder, trying to gauge how close the two men were. When he turned back, all he saw before he slammed straight in to it was another man's chest, huge and broad. _

_The impact of it knocked him hard to the ground. When he looked up, he saw the man's hands, reaching down, and before he could react, they'd taken hold of him, taken hold of his wrists, yanking him up with ridiculous ease, up off his feet like he weighed nothing. _

_The man was massive, a good four inches taller then Jack himself, with shoulders twice as wide. He looked like he was made of iron, with a face to match, hard and lined, and a grip like a vice. _

_Jack tried desperately to pull free, but the man held him tight, keeping his hands raised above his head. _

_A moment later, and Zucko's voice rang out._

"_Turn him around Petey." He said. _

_The giant obliged, spinning Jack, spreading his arms out in a wingspan and holding them still. Jack thought his limbs might snap from the pressure of the man's hands on them. He'd never felt this kind of strength before. This kind of power. _

_There was no getting away. _

"_On his knees." Zucko ordered, and the giant pushed Jack down, until his was forced to his knees, his arms still held wide. _

_Zucko stepped leisurely towards him, staring down at him with a smirk. _

"_I see you've met Petey." He said. "He's my new bodyguard. Just about the strongest son of a bitch I ever met. Pretty nifty, huh?" _

_Jack looked back up at him, his eyes wide, unable to move at all, not knowing how he should respond. If he should respond at all. _

_Zucko shrugged, and suddenly he crouched down so that he was eye level with him._

"_Listen kid, I didn't want it to have to come to this. I really didn't. I don't like violence. I consider myself a pacifist of sorts, ya know?" _

_When Jack failed to reply, Zucko looked up at Petey, nodding, and a moment later, the giant squeezed down on his thin arms with vicious pressure. _

_Jack hadn't been able to help it as he cried out, crumpling forward. The pain was immense._

"_Aww, shh, shh, shh…" Zucko shushed him, taking hold of his chin and lifting his face back up. "It's alright Jack. Don't cry." He regarded the young man a moment before shaking his head. "You really are a mess kid, aren't you?"_

_Jack said nothing. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what that meant. _

_Again Zucko shook his head._

_He still had the switchblade in his hand, and now he brought it up, holding it in front of his captives face, waving it lazily. _

_He sighed._

"_Look Jack…" He began. "I kind of like you. I mean, I know you didn't try and screw me on purpose. You're too dumb for that. Too simple. If it were up to me, I'd let you go right now, no hard feelin's. But I got a reputation to uphold, ya know?" Suddenly he pressed the knife flat edged against Jack's cheek. _

_The cool of the metal made him flinch._

"_So I can't just let it be. I gotta collect somehow." _

_He began to move the blade down, slowly, running it over Jack's jaw, and lower still, down his throat. _

_He let it linger there a moment before dragging it further, down across his chest and lower still, to his stomach. _

"_Now Jack…" He began, jamming the blade, edge first, against Jack's abdomen, pressing down hard. "I got two options for you, kay? And I want you to listen real good, cause I know you're a little slow and it can be hard for you to comprehend what people are sayin' sometimes. Alright?" _

_Jack didn't answer, staring at him. He could feel himself trembling._

"Alright_?" Zucko hissed, increasing the pressure of the blade against his stomach, threatening to slice through his clothes, in to skin. _

_Jack winced against the pain, swallowing hard and nodding stiffly. _

_Zucko smiled._

"_Good. Now, option one. I kill you right now for tryin' to cheat me outta money and _then_… and here's where I want you to listen carefully Jack, cause this is important. _Then_ I go after that lovely little wife of yours, and I kill her too. Alright?" _

_Jack's heart froze up, a sudden numbness spreading to his limbs and he began to shake visibly now._

"_N-_NO_!" He sputtered. "D-don't. Don't hurt her. _Please_ don't hurt her!" _

_Zucko kept smiling._

"_Now hold on a second kiddo. You ain't lettin' me finish. That's option number one. Option _two_, you go to work for me, pay me back that way, and maybe, just _maybe_, I'm willin' to forget this little, uh, _transgression_ on your part. Huh? What do you say?" _

"_P-please…" Jack begged. "Don't… d-don't hurt my wife. Please. I-I'll do anything. Anything you say. Just don't hurt her!" _

_Zucko's grin widened and he leaned in close, reaching out and patting his free hand across Jack's cheek._

"_That's a good boy." He said. "See, that's what I like about you kiddo. You're nice and easy." He continued to smile at him, and just when it seemed he might back off, abruptly he leaned in harder with the knife, this time cutting through his shirt, in to his skin, drawing blood. _

"_But remember Jack." He hissed, now frowning. "You fuck this up, you try and _run_, and I'm gonna make you _watch_ as I cut the baby from your bitch of a wife's stomach and then slit her fuckin' throat. Got it?"_

_All at once, Jack felt dizzy, nauseas. And then there was the wetness of tears down his face. They'd come so quickly he hadn't even realized they were threatening._

_He nodded weakly. _

_Zucko smiled._

"_Good boy." He said, before wiping his thumb across the younger man's cheek, wiping at the tears in some grotesque parody of tenderness. _

_Jack flinched, turning his face away._

_Zucko only smiled more, slapping him lightly, laughing._

"_Toughen up, sweetie." He said._

_And then, finally, he stood, nodding at the giant, who a moment later released his grip on Jack's arms, letting him fall forward on to his hands. _

"_I'll be seein' you around Jack." The loan shark finished, turning on his heel, motioning with his hand for his men to follow. "You'll hear from me when the time's right."_

_Jack's eyes moved up, and he could only watch as the three men walked away, disappearing in to the night. _

_He struggled then to push himself to his feet, his arms feeling as though the bones inside them were crushed. He knew without even looking the bruising on his skin was bad. He glanced down at his stomach. The cut wasn't deep, but it was still there, still bleeding, and his shirt was ruined._

_Jeannie was going to ask questions. _

_She was going to want to know what had happened to him._

_His eyes closed, and he held his head between his hands._

_He couldn't tell her._

_She couldn't know._

_Couldn't know how much he'd fucked everything up._

_Oh God, what had he done?_

_What in God's name had he _done_?_

_He opened his eyes, peering off in to the dark, in to hopelessness, and the tears continued to fall down his cheeks. _

_/_

_Her head rose from her hands, looking to the door as she heard keys working inside the lock._

_She'd been sitting there at the kitchen table for the last, three hours, worrying herself in to a frenzy. _

_When the door opened and she saw Jack standing there, an incredible relief filled her and she stood, stepping immediately towards him._

"_Jack, my _God_, where have you been? It's almost two in the morning! I've been worried si…"_

_She stopped cold when she took in his appearance, the sudden relief she'd felt replaced quickly with confusion._

"_Jack, what… what happened to you?" She asked, her voice shaking. _

_He said nothing and her eyes moved back to his face._

"_Jack?" _

_Still he didn't answer, keeping his gaze on the floor as he moved forward. _

"_Jack? Answer me. What… what's going on?" _

_But he remained silent, walking past her, heading straight for the bathroom. _

"_Jack!" _

_She watched as he entered the small room, closing the door swiftly behind him, and her anxiety lifted even higher._

_No, she wasn't going to let him do this again. She wasn't going to let him refuse help, to pretend that nothing was wrong. Something had happened to him, and she was going to find out what. _

_He had to know he wasn't alone._

_She walked with determination to the bathroom door, not hesitating to place her hand on the knob and push the thing open. _

_She was met with the sight of him, leaned over the sink, his hands gripping its edges, his head bowed down. _

_He'd taken his shirt off, his torso left naked. _

_And now it was she saw his arms, terrible bruising up along the lower halves, deep black and blue. She could see the impression of fingers, wrapped all the way around, and she knew immediately someone had been holding him down, holding him still._

_Her hand went to her mouth, and she could feel herself trembling. _

_She hadn't been able to stop the sharp gasp which escaped her lips at the sight of him, and he'd turned towards her, his eyes startled. _

"_Jack, my God…" She breathed. _

_She moved towards him, and that's when she noticed the open and bleeding slash across his stomach. _

_Her fear escalated. _

"_Jack, oh God what happened to you?" She cried, feeling herself begin to shake violently. She moved towards him, her hands outreached. _

_He just stared at her, wide eyed as she approached. _

"_Jack…" She reached him, taking gentle hold of his arms, examining the ugly bruising. "Wh… who did this to you?" _

"_No one." He said, trying to pull away from her. "It's nothing." _

"_Don't _lie _to me Jack." Jeannie spit, refusing to let him just shrug her off as he always did. "What happened? Who _did_ this to you?" _

_His eyes shifted to the floor, and he felt himself tense under her grip. _

"_I… it's nothing." He repeated, his voice soft. "Just… just some guys jumped me outside the club."_

_She shook her head. _

_He'd always been a terrible liar. _

"_Jack…You're lying."_

_She moved her hands to his face._

"Tell_ me the truth baby. _Please_."_

"_I'm telling you Jeannie…" He said, his gaze once more shifting away. "It's nothing. Just a couple of guys who… who didn't like my act is all."_

"_Jack, you're almost _three_hours late." She said. "Don't bullshit me, damn it! What happened?" _

_He shook his head, still refusing to look at her. _

"_Jack! For Christ's sake, _answer_ me!"_

"_I'm alright." He said. "I just… I just need to be left alone for a little while."_

"_No!" She was fast to refuse. "Damn it Jack, I'm _not_ letting you do this again, letting you shut me out! Tell me what happened! Tell me who did this to you!"_

_He tried pulling away again. _

"_J-just… just let me alone for a while." He repeated, still looking from her. _

"_Jack!" _

"_JUST L-LEAVE ME ALONE, DAMN IT! LEAVE ME_ _THE FUCK AL-LONE!" He yelled, his voice rising uncharacteristically. _

_Jeannie stood, shocked, her eyes wide and her mouth hung open. She'd never heard Jack curse in his life, let alone use that kind of language with her._

_Her hands fell away from his face as he stood stiff, his eyes still fixed on the floor. _

_A heavy silence filled the air between them, and he shifted uncomfortably, his body beginning to tremble visibly. _

_He shook his head violently, his hands suddenly reaching up and gripping the sides of it, his eyes clamping shut._

"_No… _no_… I didn't… I didn't mean that…" He spoke. And when he at last looked up at her, his face was lined in the worst kind of pain, his brows knitting together, his eyes glassy and large. "Jeannie, I… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…"_

_She didn't give him a chance to finish as her hand reared back and she slapped him, hard across the mouth. _

_Almost instantly she regretted the action as she watched him literally shrink back from her, his arms coming up, wrapping around himself as if he were freezing. _

_He stepped back, shaking his head. _

"_I'm sorry…" He said, his voice so soft she almost didn't hear. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's what h-he… w-what he d-did, what he wo-would have s-s-said." _

_Again he stepped away, the back of his legs hitting the toilet, and he sank down on to it, repeating the apology, over and over, his entire frame now trembling. _

"_Oh… Oh God…" He muttered, and suddenly his hands came up, covering his face as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "I'm so sorry." _

_Jeannie's own face fell, her forehead creasing in agony, her mouth pulling in to a deep frown. _

"_Oh God, Jack…" Her hands came up, covering her mouth. _

_What had she just done? _

_Why had she _hit _him? _

_He reminded her so much of a boy, of a child, and she suddenly hated herself._

_Someone like him didn't deserve that. _

_Didn't deserve to be _treated_ like that._

_She needed to help him, not… not _hurt_ him. Not like everyone else._

_Oh God…_

_She went to him, sinking to her knees and taking hold of his wrists, gently prying his hands from his face. _

_Tears were streaming from his eyes, and her heart sank more. _

_Jesus, what had happened to him?_

_Her arms wrapped around him, her hand going to the back of his head and pulling in._

_He collapsed, his own arms coming up and circling around her back, his face burying in the crook of her neck. _

_She felt him shaking against her, a moment later a sharp, hiccupping gasp escaping his throat, and she realized with dismay he was sobbing. _

"_Oh God Jack… what happened?" She begged, feeling tears stinging at the back of her eyes. "What happened?" _

_His arms wrapped tighter, and he released a shuttering breath, wet tears covering his cheeks and falling on to her skin._

_He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her more then anything in the world. To hear her say everything would be alright, that they'd get through it together, whatever it was._

_But he couldn't. _

_She couldn't _know_… _

_She couldn't know just how much he'd screwed things up. What a fucking mess he'd made of it all. _

_Oh God, if she knew… if she knew how he'd endangered her life and the life of their child… she'd leave him for sure. _

_She'd realize what a loser he was and finally leave him all alone, like she should have done years ago._

_God, his father had been right. He'd done nothing but ruin things for Jeannie, dragged her in to the hell pit that was his own, miserable existence. He didn't deserve her, and she didn't deserve to be with a _nothing_ like him. If it weren't for him… if it weren't for him, she'd be living in some nice part of town, she'd have a career by now, she'd be happy, be with a guy who was actually _worthy_ of her. But instead she was here with him, for whatever reason she'd taken pity on him, and now he was giving her nothing but pain._

_He hated himself._

_He hated himself so much._

_Hated that he'd let her come with him, let his selfishness get in the way of what was right for her._

_But God, he couldn't make it without her! He couldn't make it in this world, couldn't handle it._

_She was all he had. _

All_ he had. _

_He wanted to tell her so much. Wanted to tell her so she would just finally go, leave him to die like she should have before._

_But he couldn't. _

_He was afraid, and he hated himself more for his weakness._

"_Jack, baby, _pleas_e talk to me!" He heard her implore. "_Please _tell what it is!"_

_But he could only shake his head as he held her tight, crying against her._

"_I'm sorry." He repeated. "I'm so sorry."_

_/_

_They came for him only a week later. _

_He hadn't been able to tell Jeannie. He hadn't been able to tell her anything, too afraid of what her reaction would be. _

_She didn't even know he'd gotten pulled as one of the acts from the comedy club. She thought he was still performing every other night, that he was still getting paid…_

_He'd continued to come down here because he didn't know how to tell her, to explain to her what had happened, how horribly he'd screwed everything up. She'd hate him if he did, she'd realize what a loser he was, what a nothing… he didn't know why she didn't realize it already. _

_And he was scared. He was so scared. They didn't have an income now, and there was no money saved because they'd barely been getting by on his menial wages from working as the night custodian at Ace. All the money Mr. Zucko had… had lent him was almost gone. And now Mr. Zucko wanted it back, he wanted it back or he wanted Jack to do something for him, work for him or something. Jack didn't know… he didn't know what Mr. Zucko wanted him to do. All he knew was he had to do it, that he didn't have a choice because… because if he didn't, Mr. Zucko was going to hurt Jeannie, he was going to hurt her. And Jack knew he'd rather die then let anything bad happen to her. _

_He'd been standing outside the comedy club for the last thirty minutes when a black sedan pulled up beside him and a moment later, Mr. Zucko's assistant, that giant man from before, the one who'd held him down, emerged from the passenger side door. _

_Jack's eyes went wide, and his first thought was that he should run. But then he remembered what had happened last time he did, and what Mr. Zucko had said to him, that when the time came, he better be ready, or they'd come for Jeannie._

_So he stood frozen, shrinking back slightly as the giant man came near him._

_He towered over him, something which caused an entirely different feeling of intimidation in Jack. Usually it was him having to look down at people. He'd never actually met anyone who he'd had to look up at before, excepting when he was a child, but that was different. _

_Pete glared at him, his face twisted in a scowl. And abruptly he reached out, grabbing fierce hold of the young man and jerking him forward as though he weighed nothing. Jack couldn't help the small yelp which escaped his lips as he felt the power of the man, remembering it from before, remembering how it had felt like the man would rip his arms straight from their sockets, crush the bones beneath the skin. He thought this man's strength was similar to his fathers, an overpowering strength, one which he could do nothing against, one which made him feel even weaker then he was, and suddenly his fear seemed to increase tenfold. _

_Oh God, what were they going to do to him?_

"_Get in the car." Pete grunted sharply, his grip tightening further as he yanked Jack forward, opening the sedan's back door and pushing him towards it._

"_Wh-w-where are we g-going?" Jack stammered badly, his voice shaking. He knew he shouldn't have asked. People only ever seemed to become angry when he did. And now was no exception._

"_No fuckin' questions dip shit. Get in the car, _now_."_

_Pete shoved him roughly, forcing Jack to have to catch himself on the doors frame._

_He felt nauseous with fear now, could feel himself trembling. _

_Oh God, he hoped they didn't kill him. If they did, Jeannie would be left all alone, with the baby coming…_

_He felt his throat constrict as he thought maybe she would be better off that way, without him ruining her life like he had been._

_Slowly he lowered himself in to the car. There was another man, one Jack hadn't ever seen before in the seat opposite. On his lap was a metal briefcase. _

_As soon as he was inside, the door slammed shut, a moment following Pete climbed back in to the front passenger side, and then the automatic locks clicked audibly in to place._

_Jack instinctively wrapped his arms around himself, his head bowing low. _

_The driver hit the gas and the car went speeding from the comedy club with a loud screech._

"_You know the security codes to your old work buildin'?" Pete asked, though it sounded more like a statement._

_Nobody said anything and Jack glanced up briefly, not knowing if the giant was talking to him._

_Pete whirled around in his seat._

"_Hey, I'm talkin' to you dumb ass!" He snapped, slapping Jack across the face. _

_The other men erupted in to laughter and Jack shrank back in his seat, his eyes wide with terror as he brought his hand to his now stinging cheek._

"_You know the security codes to your old work place or what?" _

_Jack blinked, trying to fight back the tears which threatened at the back of his eyes as slowly he nodded._

_He'd quit his job there only two weeks ago, and it wasn't likely they'd changed the codes to disable the buildings alarm. _

_He didn't understand what that had to do with anything though. Why would they care if he knew? And he'd had to turn his keys in when he quit too, so even knowing the codes, he couldn't use them because he couldn't get in anyway._

"_Good." Pete said, turning back around. "Cause that's where we're headed and it's you who's gonna shut down the alarm system. Got it?"_

_Jack blinked._

"_Sh-shut down the al-larm s-system?" He stumbled, confused. _

"_That's right." Pete answered._

"_B-but I… I don't have a-access to the b-building anymore." Jack tried to explain. "T-they took my keys w-when I quit."_

_Again the men around him began to chuckle._

"_You just leave that part to us." Pete said. "You worry about gettin' that alarm shut off before it starts makin' noise and everything'll be alright for you."_

_Several seconds of silence past, a million questions whirling in Jack's mind, his anxiety seeming to increase with each, passing moment. Why were they making him do this? Getting in to Ace without keys was breaking and entering, it was against the law. They could all get in to big trouble with the police. And he didn't understand what they would want in a chemical processing plant anyway. _

"_W-why are we…" he started, but went silent when the giant again turned in his seat._

"_What'd I say about questions bozo? Keep yer fuckin' mouth shut or else!" Again he reached out, smacking Jack, this time hard enough to cause his head to snap to the side and his lower lip to open up._

_Jack didn't make another sound. He understood this kind of communication. He understood what it meant._

"_Kid's not too bright, is he?" The man driving asked._

"_Pff, he's a fuckin' idiot." Pete answered him. "But they always are. Gotta be, not to see through Charlie's game. This one…" the giant laughed. "This one thought Charlie was gonna help him make it as some big time comedian, got him to quit his job and everythin', told him it was so he could concentrate on his 'career'. When cash got tight, that's when Charlie offered to lend him some, and you know the rest."_

_The driver nodded in reply._

_Jack's head swam with puzzlement, and then with horror._

_What were they talking about? Had… had the whole thing been a trick? Had Mr. Zucko been lying to him the whole time, to force him here, in to this position? _

_Oh Christ, no…_

_Jack leaned forward, burying his face in his hands._

_He was a bigger fool then he'd even thought, and the dawning of his own stupidity, his own idiotic gullibility was suffocating. Suddenly he felt like he couldn't breathe. _

_He'd ruined everything, everything…_

"_Man, this job better be worth it. That last shit barely got us any profit." The driver continued to talk._

"_Charlie says this one'll be better. He says Monarch's got loads of cash stashed away in its back rooms. All we gotta do is get in through Ace, which should be easy enough. Since the two building's are connected, they both've got the same security codes. Nice and clean. We get the alarm system shut down and we just stroll in and grab the cash, no problems. There ain't no security there this time of night, 'cept near the front of the Monarch building. Which is why we're goin' in through Ace. They won't even know we was there."_

"_Yeah, well, that's IF this clown doesn't screw it up for us. I don't know Pete, he seems like he'd be scared of his own shadow." The driver glanced at Jack through the rearview mirror. "What if he slips?"_

"_He won't." Pete said. "He's got a pregnant wife at home, and he knows not to fuck around or we fuck with her."_

"_Oh yeah?" The driver asked. _

_And Pete nodded._

"_Man, she's a fine little thing too. You should see her. This sweet little blonde. Real small and delicate."_

"_Damn, she sounds nice."_

_Pete laughed._

"_She is. Can't figure how this loser ended up with a fine piece of ass like her." He jerked his thumb back towards Jack. "Don't make no sense. She's _way_ outta his league."_

_And now the driver laughed._

"_Shit, any woman'd be outta this can's league." He said. "Only action you'd think he'd be seein' is from other fairies desperate to get laid."_

_Pete laughed loudly then._

"_True that. True that. But look at this way man, if this mook fuck's up like the last one, gets a bullet in the head, then his girl's all ours. Man I bet she's a nice lay. Looks like a porcelain doll and shit."_

"_Man. Is she a natural blonde you think?"_

"_Oh, she's natural all right. I seen her close, when we was tailin' the two of em' downtown. Light roots."_

_The driver chuckled._

"_I'll bet she's got a light bush then, huh?"_

"_That's assumin' she don't shave." Pete chuckled with him. "Guess we'll have to find out."_

_Jack felt like he was going to vomit, he felt so sick, growing dizzy._

_These men, they were… they were talking about Jeannie, talking about her in horrible ways. He wanted to tell them to stop, to not talk about her, not mention her. _

_But he couldn't. He couldn't do anything to make them stop. _

"_But hey man, ain't you married?" The driver suddenly asked. "Ain't you married to that chick with the big ass?"_

_The giant's head turned, glaring at the other man, his eyes suddenly angry._

"_You callin' my girl fat?" He spit, all humor gone from his voice. _

"_N-no man." The driver sounded nervous. "I just like a nice, round ass, that's all."_

_Like lightening Pete's hand shot forward, grabbing hold of the driver by the collar of his shirt._

"_You got eyes on my woman?" His voice rose._

"_N-no, no man. I ain't got eyes on your woman. L… lemme go! We're gonna crash!"_

"_I'll crack yer fuckin' skull open if you look at my chick!"_

"_I ain't!" The driver insisted. "Now lemme go!"_

"_Let him go Pete!" The man sitting next to Jack suddenly spoke. "You want us to crash?"_

_But the giant didn't release his grip, glaring at the driver a long moment before finally pushing him away._

"_You better not be lookin' at my chick fucker. I'll fuck you up if you do."_

_They continued to bicker back and forth, heated and mad._

_Tears pushed past Jack's eyes. _

_He thought of Jeannie, thought of the danger he'd placed her in, how much she would hate him if she found out, how much he _deserved_ to be hated…_

_He tried quickly wiping them away, not wanting the men to see, afraid of what they might do if they did._

_His eyes shut tight, praying with everything he had for this to end. Oh God, oh God, if he made it through this, if he was able to go back home to Jeannie, to see her again, he swore, he was going to make everything right, he was going to go back to Mr. Sullivan, ask him if his offer still stood of helping him through college. He was going to get Jeannie and the baby out of this terrible, terrible place, give her the life she wanted, the life she deserved. He promised he wouldn't be a screw up anymore, he wouldn't be. If he could just get through this…_

_Abruptly the car came to a halt, the ignition shutting off._

_Jack took his hands from his face, daring to look up. He immediately recognized the area. They were maybe half a block from the Ace building._

_At once the car locks clicked open and the giant got out. _

_A moment later, the door beside Jack was thrown open and the giant reached in, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him out._

_He was swung hard forward, causing him to lose his footing and fall to his knees against the pavement._

_The other two men by then had emerged from the vehicle, and quickly they were surrounding Jack._

"_Get up." Pete ordered, pulling a gun from his inside coat pocket, aiming it at him._

_They all had guns, all brandishing them now._

_Oh God… What had he gotten mixed up in? Who were these people?_

_Jack shook visibly, doing as he was told, pushing himself to his feet._

_He felt like he was going to faint._

_He hadn't been this afraid since… since he'd last seen his father, three years ago now, outside Gotham University. He hadn't felt as afraid as he now did since then, since he'd _lived_ with his father._

_The man with the briefcase walked up to him._

"_You'll be wearing this." He said, shoving the case in to Jack's hands. _

_Jack stared down at the thing with a look of confusion, saying nothing._

"_Open it idiot. The shit's inside."_

_Jack swallowed thickly, beginning to fumble with the clips. _

_He had so many questions floating through his mind, so many things he didn't understand._

_He wanted to ask them, but he knew he couldn't, he knew it would only lead to him getting hurt. _

_Finally he got the thing open, and out fell a red, dome shaped helmet, hitting the ground with a loud clank, and after it a red, flowing cape._

_Jack stared at the items in bemusement, unsure of what he was looking at._

_Pete bent down, picking the helmet and cape up, holding it out._

"_Put it on." He ordered._

_Again Jack blinked, his hands shaking as he took hold of the items. The cape had two clips on it, which Jack assumed you used to clip to your collar. But the helmet was bizarre. As far as he could tell, there was no slot through which to see._

"_H… h-how do I… d-do I see out of it?" He stammered._

"_It's like a two-way mirror bozo." The man who'd given him the briefcase answered. "You ever heard of a two-way mirror? You can see out, but no one can see in. Now put it the hell on. We're wastin' time."_

_Pete grew impatient as Jack continued to stare at the helmet. He wasn't reacting quickly enough for his liking, and suddenly he reached out, grabbing Jack by the collar of his jacket and jerking him forward, taking the helmet out of his hands as he did so._

_Jack dropped the cape as fear again took him._

"_Fuckin' retard!" The giant hissed, pushing the helmet down over Jack's head as he continued to hold him still with his other hand. When he was satisfied it was secure he bent and picked up the fallen cap, spinning Jack around and clipping the red material to his jacket._

_The helmet was tight, suffocating and hot, the view from it completely disorienting as it made everything double and colored red. His anxiety rose even more._

_The giant pushed him from behind again when he'd finished clipping the cape on and again Jack lost his footing, going down on his hands and knees._

"_I-I c-can't see… I c-can't see a-anything…" he said, groping along the ground. _

_Pete reached down, taking him by the arm and lifting him back up._

"_You'll get used to it. Now _move_." Again he shoved him, not as hard this time, digging his pistol in to Jack's lower back, and he stumbled forward, his hands lifting out in front of him._

_He didn't know how he was supposed to get used to this, or how he was supposed to punch in the security codes like they wanted him to. He was seeing everything in two's, couldn't tell which was real and which was the reflection._

_Again he felt the tears at the back of his eyes, but he willed them away, knowing they would only obscure his vision more._

_He saw the giant move ahead of him, along with the driver. The man with the briefcase stayed behind, making sure he didn't try to run._

_Within a minute, the Ace building came in to view and Jack felt his heart rate quicken._

_This was wrong. It was all wrong. They were committing a crime, and he was going to commit it with them. If Jeannie knew about this, if she knew what he was doing, he thought she might hate him even more then if she knew how badly he'd already messed up. But he saw no other way, no other choice. He had to do this for her, for her safety and for their unborn child's safety. _

_If only he hadn't gotten in to this situation to begin with… But he supposed that would be asking too much of himself, for him to actually do something _right _in his life._

_Before he'd even really realized it, they'd reached the chemical plant, and he was being led around out back, to where he would enter when he still worked here._

_Soon they were standing right outside the back exit._

_The giant turned towards him, grabbing him by the arm and hissing lowly…_

"_Now soon as we get in there, you shut down the alarm and you do it _quick_. Got it slow kid?" _

"_I-I ca-can't see…" Jack again stuttered. "I w-won't be able to… to see the k-key pad."_

"_You'll see it fine retard!" Pete reached out, slapping Jack across the top of the helmet. "Don't you even _think_ about takin' that fuckin' thing off. It stays on no matter what."_

"_B-but i-if I don't pu-punch in the code wi-within 30 s-seconds…"_

"_Enough with the stutterin' ya skinny little shit!" The giant cut him off. "You've held us up long enough already!"_

_He looked to the man who'd held the briefcase._

"_Get us in." He said, and the other man nodded, pulling a small wallet of tools from his pants pocket, kneeling down in front of the door, beginning to work the lock._

_Jack had again gone silent, his arms wrapping round himself._

_The wind around them was beginning to pick up, dark storm clouds forming in the sky above, and the cold penetrated through Jack's thread-bare clothes, through his thin form, seeping in to his bones._

_He tried desperately to hold back the tears threatening to push past, but quickly they pooled in his eyes, sliding down his cheeks. A sob caught in his throat, and he swallowed it back down, a barely audible cry slipping from his lips. _

_Oh God what had he done? What had he _done_?_

"_Got it!" The man working the lock suddenly spoke, standing quickly and replacing the tool set in his jacket._

_He reached out, pulling the door open, and the giant grabbed the back of Jack's suit coat, shoving him roughly through the threshold._

"_Get to work." He spit._

_Jack stumbled forward. The place was dark, all the lights shut down, and he realized they must not yet have found a replacement for him as night custodian. The tears in his eyes and the helmets warped vision coupled with the lack of light made him nearly blind, and he groped against the wall to his left, where he knew the key pad to be._

_He'd told them he couldn't see, he'd told them, but they didn't seem to care. _

_Suddenly there was a bright glare in his eyes, and his lids shut against it, his hands coming up to try and block the intrusive brightness._

_The men had followed him in, holding flashlights, and one of them was standing in front of him now, shining it at him._

"_Where's the key pad?" _

_It was the giant's voice that asked._

"_H-here. It's here." Jack stammered, stepping back, gesturing towards the wall._

_Pete looked to where he'd pointed, and sure enough, there sat an electronic pad, sporting a set of numbered buttons. _

"_Punch in the code. Make it fast."_

_The giant again took hold of Jack, pushing him towards the pad. _

_The light was obscuring his vision even more, reflecting in a strange halo around everything else in his sights. But Jack didn't say anything, too afraid of what they might do to him should he mention it again._

_He reached out for the key pad, the numbers in front of him doubling over on each other, making them impossible to read. _

"_Hurry the fuck up!" Pete hissed in a sharp whisper, and in a panic, Jack quickly pushed the sequence of numbers which he could only guess to be right. He had no real idea. _

"_Did ya do it?" Pete asked. "Is the alarm off?"_

_And shakily Jack nodded._

"_Y-yes." He answered, knowing it was a lie. The alarm in the building was a silent one. If it went off, they wouldn't even know it._

_But he couldn't tell them that, he couldn't tell them he's been unable to see the key pad, that he might have messed up the sequence because of it. They would kill him if he did, he was sure of it. _

_Once more, the giant had his hands on him, was pushing him forward._

"_Now show us where the door is that leads in to Monarch!" He ordered. "Hurry up!"_

"_I th-thought you k-knew?" Jack said, again nearly falling._

"_No shit for brains! Why you think we need you on the job? Now _move_!"_

_Jack didn't need to be told again, turning and struggling not to fall as he made his way through the dark ahead._

_The only access point to the Monarch Playing Card building through Ace Chemicals was located in the plants processing area, where they held and dumped chemicals. The door connecting the two buildings was situated at the end of a long cat-walk and across a landing, about forty feet above the giant vats they used to contain different chemical bases, those being on one side, on the other, vats equal in size, containing the waste of those chemicals, which were filtered out through a drainage pipe and in to a pool out back._

_Jack had only been up there once, when they were giving him a our of the building, showing him the different areas. They'd told him a special team came in to clean that particular section every month, due to the high risk involved in being around such potentially toxic, caustic substances. Only authorized personnel were allowed access. Jack's job had only been to clean the office sections of the building._

_Still, he knew his way around, knew how to get there, and he wasn't about to argue with these men, seeing their guns, and the way they spoke, how mean they were… like his father._

"_Move faster fuck face!" He felt a gun dig hard in to his lower back and Jack stepped quicker, despite his difficulty seeing._

_He nearly fell more then once along the way, actually doing so as they ascended a staircase at the corridors end, one which had at its top a break room which then led in to the chemical storage and disposal area. He hit his knees against the steps and was yanked back up by the giant before he'd even had a chance to push himself back to his feet._

"_Keep goin' shrimp!"_

_His heart rate quickened again as they approached the catwalk, cutting through the break room. He didn't think he'd inputted the code correctly. He didn't think he had. And if he hadn't, the police would come, they'd come and he'd be arrested, or shot, maybe these men would shoot him first for getting it wrong… And Jeannie would be alone then, and it would all be his fault. Just like everything… everything was his fault._

_The blast of heat from the chemicals as they entered through the door was overwhelming, sweat instantly forming along his forehead and under his arms. The place was like some kind of inferno, and loud, the lurching of the machines, turning and mixing the chemicals, and the rushing sound of the waste being sucked to the outside. It filled his ears, a cacophony of sound, and now he was nearly both blind and deaf, the helmet over his head amplifying the heat, making it hard to breathe._

_Again he was shoved from behind, hard enough this time for him to lose his balance, and he fell to his hands and knees over the grated walkway. _

_Steam rose from below, a yellow and green mist, and he felt suddenly transfixed by the sight, everything around seeming a surreal haze, tinged red by the helmet, blurred and overlapping. _

_A foot landed against his back, between his shoulder blades, pushing him down in to the grating, against his stomach. _

"_Get up!" Pete barked. "Get your ass up!"_

_Jack's legs felt weak. He was trembling, dizzy, his nausea returning with the smell of fumes and the overbearing heat. _

_He couldn't take this. He couldn't. _

_Jeannie… Oh Christ, Jeannie… Why hadn't he listened to her? She'd told him… told him he should take Mr. Sullivan up on his offer, that he could still pursue his dream of being a comedian while getting his PhD. But Mr. Zucko had sounded so convincing, so sure, and he'd told Jack he was a consultant to those in show business, so he must have known what he was talking about. He'd told Jack if he wanted to be successful at it, he would have to quit his job, have to focus full time on it, on his act…_

_But Mr. Zucko had lied… he'd lied, about everything, lied to get Jack here, to force him in to this, and still, Jack could only blame himself. If he wasn't such a fool, such a stupid fool… But he was, always had been. He couldn't do anything right, be anything good or worth while. His father had been right. He was a loser, a nothing, and here… here was the proof. He'd endangered the life of the only person who had ever been good to him, ever been kind to him… the one person who had ever loved him. He'd taken her away from a life of security and money and well being and brought her here, to the Narrows, to this God forsaken hell hole, been an embarrassment to her in front of her friends, her family… he'd ruined her life, just like his father had told him he would. And he'd been too stupid to see it, too selfish and disgusting… he was disgusting._

_He hated himself. Oh God, he hated himself. _

_And Jeannie would hate him too, when she found out, found out about him, about this._

_Fresh tears formed in his eyes, falling fast down his face, mixing with his sweat as shakily he got back to his feet, staggering forward._

_He felt like he was going to faint._

_The men's footsteps on the metal grate behind him echoed in his ears, his head pounding with the noise, it seeming somehow intensified by the sound of the machines below._

_He could see the door, the one which led in to Monarch, up ahead maybe fifty feet._

_They were almost there. If he could just get them through, if they just got their money, maybe… maybe they would let him go, maybe they would let him go back to Jeannie, maybe they would leave them alone then. _

_If he could just get them through, and they could just get their money._

"_FREEZE!"_

_There was an eruption of sound._

_The men behind him began to yell, screaming out._

"_THE COPS! THE FUCKIN' COPS!"_

"_THAT'S HIM! THE RED HOOD!" _

_And suddenly Jack was knocked in to the railway of the catwalk, pushed like a rag doll, and the giant was at once upon him, his hand fisted in Jack's shirt. He pressed him back, forcing his head and shoulders over the side._

"_YOU FUCKIN' COCK SUCKER!" Pete screamed. "YOU DIDN'T PUT THE CODE IN! YOU FUCKIN' SET US UP!"_

"_N-n-no, no…" Jack's head shook, his entire frame shuttering, his voice broken with tears. "I d-didn't mean it, I didn't…"_

"_YOU'RE DEAD CLOWN! YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE FUCKIN' DEAD! I'M GONNA MURDER YOUR ASS!"_

"_PETE, WE AIN'T GOT NO TIME. LEAVE HIM! WE GOTTA MOVE!" Another of the men yelled, grabbing hold the giant's arm, trying to pull him away._

_But Pete just threw him off._

"_NO! THIS BITCH DIES TONIGHT! HE SET US UP! THE FREAK! HE SET US UP!"_

"_HE'S AS GOOD AS DEAD ANYWAY MAN!" The other man implored. "JUST LEAVE HIM! IF THE COPS DON'T GET HIM, WE'LL FIND HIM LATER! WE GOTTA GO!"_

"_NO, NO! HE'S MINE, DAMN IT, HE'S MINE." Pete pushed down harder on Jack, forcing him further over the railing, half his torso dangling over the edge now. And Jack cried out, terror ripping down through his stomach._

"_PETE, LET'S GO!" _

"_STOP, THIS IS THE POLICE!"_

"_FUCK!" _

_And then there was a shot, an explosion of metal and fire and powder. _

_And then another, and the giant's grip slackened, his face turning from fury in to disbelief, his eyes going suddenly wide, mouth hung open._

_Jack stared up at him, his heart pounding wildly, painfully in his chest, tears half blinding him, and at once, the giant's hand uncurled completely, and he dropped with a loud clang to his knees, sitting there like that a moment before abruptly falling over, on to his side, motionless._

_Jack gasped, sharp and desperate as he barely was able to lift himself back over from the railing, staring down at the fallen giant with startled eyes._

_For a moment, it was as though things had gone silent, no sound around him._

_But then he blinked, and the noise came rushing back in, assaulting his ears._

_Madness. _

_Pure madness. _

_Unrestrained screaming and the explosion of bullets, metal hitting metal, mettle tearing flesh, anguished cries and gargled words._

_He couldn't make any of it out, he couldn't understand. It felt like his head was caving in on itself, like his brain was going to explode._

_His eyes squeezed shut, more tears forming and falling, his air going as the helmet pressed down on him, engulfing him with its oppressive sides. _

_He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think._

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, what was this… what was happening?_

_Things came crashing back as a bullet ricocheted off the railing beside him, the noise seeming to explode in his ears._

_And Jack screamed._

_Guns! They were firing their guns, a hailstorm of bullets from every direction!_

_He had to get out of there! He had to get out!_

_Oh God, he was going to die if he didn't!_

_He turned, panic filling his veins._

_The men he'd come in with were running, back the way they came, turning every few moments and firing._

_Jack's eyes were wide as saucers, but still, he could see nothing._

_His head snapped back around, and at the other side was another group of men, dressed in uniform. _

_The police, and they too had their guns drawn, they too were firing._

_A crossfire. Oh Jesus Christ, he was stuck in a crossfire!_

_He didn't know what to do. He couldn't _think_!_

_Oh please, he thought, someone help me, someone help me please… _

_More gun shots, and Jack bolted, instinct taking over, after the men who'd brought him here._

_He stopped dead, and so did the men in front of him when a giant, black mass dropped down from the rafters above, blocking their path._

"_I… I-IT'S HIM!" One of the men cried. "IT'S THE BAT!"_

_And before Jack had even any clue what was happening, the men's guns were on the ground, and the black mass had kicked them over the edge, to the vats below._

_The men screamed, backing away, stumbling and falling. _

"_GET AWAY! G-GET AWAY FROM US YOU FREAK!"_

_And within moments, they'd been engulfed, the mass descending upon them, covering them from sight._

_Jack watched with horrified eyes._

_What was he seeing? What was it? It was like… like a _demon_! A horrible, black demon! With clawed fingers and sharp, jutting spikes atop its head, massive, it seemed to move with the shadows of the place, not material, not solid._

_When it again stood, the men were unconscious, their arms bound behind their backs by something… Jack couldn't see._

_And then the demon look at him._

_And Jack's stomach dropped, hard and heavy, his body beginning to shake violently, without any control._

_The mass floated towards him._

"_N-n-no, n-no, p-p-please…"_

_He stepped back, sliding along the railing._

"_P-please, ss-stay b-back, l-leave me al-llone…"_

_But the demon continued its approach, and unrestrained panic erupted within Jack._

"_P-please God, leave me alone! L-LEAVE ME ALONE!"_

_He staggered away, and his foot caught, in the red cape wrapped round his shoulders._

_He stumbled, losing his balance, falling backwards._

_And he hit the railing, hard, the full force of his weight crashing in to it, the momentum forcing his feet off the walkway, forcing his body over the edge._

_He fell, and for a split second, he realized it, realized what had happened._

_He saw the demon above him, over the railing, a giant, clawed hand, stretched out after him. And he thought he heard the demon scream something, yell out a word. Though he couldn't make it out._

_Only then did Jack realize he too was screaming, the sound unlike his own voice, broken and unrestrained, loud, filling his head._

_And then nothing._

_Everything went silent, completely silent, the sensation of falling suddenly over, replaced by a crushing impact against his back, knocking the air instantly from him, and he at once was jerked violently to the side, then the other way. And again._

_There was something filling his lungs, rapidly, unforgivingly, filling his ears and his mouth and his nostrils. Attacking his eyes._

_Liquid? Some kind of liquid? _

_He was blind, utterly blind. He could see nothing, hear nothing. Knew only that he was being tossed violently, right and left, up and down._

_He was drowning. He was drowning, oh God, he was drowning!_

_He felt himself being pulled, ripped viciously in one direction, an impossible force._

_He hit something. Something hard, solid, a gargled gasp tearing from his throat, and in the next instant, he was pulled, torn through and spit out. For a moment, there was air, and sound again, a tumultuous rushing. _

_But as quickly as it had come, he was again pulled down, he was again drowning._

_He flailed, hysterical and panicked._

_Oh God, oh God please!_

_Fighting, kicking, pushing._

_He had to get out of this, oh Jesus, he had to break free!_

_He ripped himself upwards._

_Up, up, up. He had to go up. Up was air, up was breath._

_Pulling, tearing, thrashing._

_The surface broke._

"_GAHHHHHHHHHHH!" _

_He gasped, loud and long, struggling to suck air, his lungs breathing it in greedily, veraciously._

_His arms pummeled the surface of the water, fighting to keep him afloat, to keep him from going back under. _

_He could see an embankment, several feet ahead, and without thinking, he lunged towards it, barely able to push through the water. _

_Weak, he was so weak._

_But he had to reach it. He had to or he was going to… to…_

_And finally, he did, his hands coming up on the loose dirt, dragging himself from the pool, pulling himself, hand over hand, fingers digging in to thick mud, until finally he'd emerged fully, crawling forward, making it barely a foot from the edge before he collapsed down, drained completely._

_His breathing was haggard, loud wheezing, interspersed with violent hacking. Oh Jesus, he was going to be…_

_He heaved, lifting himself up on his hands, grabbing hold the helmet, barely tearing it from his head before he vomited, the force of it shaking his entire frame, and again. The helmet dropped, rolling a few inches as he fell back to his hands, heaving frenziedly, more vomit, thick and red._

_Oh God… Oh God, was that blood? _

_For several minutes, it continued, wave after wave of bile, rising up out of his throat, exploding violently from his mouth, on to the slicked ground, until finally there was nothing left, nothing left to throw up, and again he collapsed, still wheezing, still hacking, like a man dying… he sounded like he was dying. He felt like it._

_And only when the vomiting had ceased, and he was spared a moment to rest, did he notice the pain. All over… all over him… _

_Oh Jesus… Oh Jesus Christ _what_!_

_He was burning! On fire! Oh God, help, he was on fire! The heat! Burning through his skin, burning to his bones, melting the skin off! He could feel it! He could feel it burning the skin off!_

_In his eyes! Oh God help, his eyes were burning! _

_He fell forward, a scream tearing from his throat, unrestrained, broken, desperately he flung his face in to the mud, burying it, rubbing it viciously, violently against the earth. It was burning behind his eyes, _behind them_! Wrapping around and bleeding out. He could feel the fire in his pours, in his veins, ripping him from inside out. Oh God, please… make it stop, Christ almighty make it stop!_

_A strangled sob pushed past his lips as he continued to roll in a panicked frenzy on the ground, his hands coming up to his face, tearing at it, ripping, trying to rip the pain from it, from his skin, from his eyes. Oh God, in his throat! His insides! It burned, it all burned! All over like acid in his blood, in his organs, in the fibers of his body!_

_He hacked, coughed up more blood, it splattering in sickening drops along the ground, dark and ugly. _

_Please, Christ make it stop, please…Oh God…_

_Tears filled his eyes, burning, burning, burning, everywhere burning… pouring down his cheeks. _

_Throbbing in his skull, noise, he… he couldn't see… he couldn't hear anything!_

_Oh Christ, where was he? Where…_

_His lids shut tight, digging the butts of his palms in to his eyes, pressing hard, his teeth grinding hard._

"_GAHHHHHHHH, GHAHHRRRRRRRRR!"_

_Again he rolled, on to his back, and again, on to his stomach, pushing forward, his knees and elbows dragging in the mud._

_He tore at his face, his fingers moving, curling in to his hair, tearing at that, ripping at it, ripping it out by the roots._

"_AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"_

_And again he rolled on to his back._

_He couldn't escape this, couldn't get rid of this pain, oh God, this horrible, horrible pain! _

_Wildly he rolled again, on to his knees, and he stumbled, pushing himself to his feet, running forward, falling, crashing back down._

_This pain, oh God… what… what had happened…? Where was he… where…_

_Who…?_

_He couldn't _think_ damn it! He couldn't think of anything!_

_Please! Oh lord, please help…_

_His hands once more came up, gripping the sides of his head…_

_This noise! Make this noise stop! Make it STOP!_

_His teeth ground, eyes squeezing tight._

_Fingers digging in to his scalp._

_MAKE IT STOP!_

_Images flashed in front of him, a blur of faces and sounds, moving pictures, feelings, feelings, feelings… what were all these FEELINGS?_

_He saw a man… a man… a big man… cruel eyes, mean eyes… reaching for him, reaching to grab him…_

_Panic, fear…_

_Again he pushed himself to his feet, hands still at his head, a cry rising from his throat as he staggered forward, making it only a few feet before again collapsing._

_More pictures, more sound, a different man, older, he was smiling, his eyes… his eyes full with pitying…_

_No… NO!_

_He fell to his back._

_Humiliation… he was small, he was nothing…_

"_N-no…" he cried. _

_He couldn't… he couldn't remember… he couldn't remember this… any of this…_

_The first man again, his face now fading, a rasp of a voice, telling him… telling him he was nothing…_

"_Nooooo…"_

_And then the man was gone, and the man with pitying eyes, he was gone too. But still he was small, still he was nothing._

_Still he was burning._

_Panic returned and he rolled to his knees again, crawling forward._

_There were voices, loud, people yelling, screaming, laughing, laughing, laughing at him. _

_Making him small, making him nothing._

_Hatred poured from them, anger and hatred and repulsion. They hated him, they hated him, hated him, hated him…_

_He saw their faces, twisted in hatred, in revulsion, twisted in disgust… _

_He was disgusting… he was a perversion…_

_A mo… a monster… he was a monster… _

_They were laughing…_

_And he was small._

_Please, God, he couldn't breathe… he couldn't breathe… _

_He couldn't live…_

_Oh God it hurt so much, it hurt so much…_

_They hated him… they all hated him… _

_Their eyes flashed with it, with hate, with anger and hate and disgust._

_He couldn't remember… couldn't remember where… _

_Who…_

_They had no faces now…_

_But still they laughed… still… _

_They recoiled back… disgusted… af… afraid… afraid of him, disgusted and afraid and they hated him… they hated him, and he was nothing._

_There was a girl now, a girl… she smiled. She… she smiled…_

"_HUHHHHHHHHH!" He gasped, one hand reaching out, groping desperately at the air in front of him, at nothing, and he lost his balance, falling forward, his face in the mud. A sob pushed past his lips._

_A girl, she wanted… she wanted to touch him… not like the others… not like… her eyes were warm, they were kind and s… soft… and she wanted to touch him._

_Oh God, who…_

_Her hand reached out, her fingers…_

_He lifted his face from the ground, reaching back…_

_Back, back, back…_

_So close, they were so close…_

_Her fingers were so close to his face…_

_He pushed forward…_

_Please, oh God please…_

_He was burning, everywhere was burning._

_He was disgusting… he was small… they hated him… he was nothing.  
_

_He was nothing, nothing, nothing…_

_He couldn't breathe… so much hate, so much anger and hate and pain…_

_So much hurting…_

_The girl… Oh God, the girl… her face, her face was fading, her beautiful face…_

_And he couldn't remember, couldn't remember…_

_If he could only reach her, if he could only feel her hands on his burning face… Oh God, the pain might stop… it might end if she could touch him… if he could touch her… no hate with her, no disgust… Please, if he could touch her, _please_!_

_He reached, stretched out his hands, stretched for hers._

_She stretched back._

_So close… so close…_

_And then she was gone, she was gone, gone, gone…_

_He couldn't remember._

_Where was he?_

_Who… what was his name? What was…_

_He couldn't remember._

_And there was pain, so much pain…_

_Who…_

_Who… who was he? Who was he?_

_Hatred._

_Anger and hatred and pain._

_They… they hated him… they all hated him…_

_All of them…_

_Who were they? Who?_

_He couldn't remember._

_Couldn't remember…_

_He looked up, eyes wide, searching and lost._

_Woods? Trees. There were trees. _

_He felt something slick against his skin, across his face, his burning face. Water. Rain._

_His head tilted back, looking upwards, to the sky. And rain poured down, over his face._

_Hate… they hated him… all of them…_

_Who?_

_Anger and pain and disgust… and hate…_

_What?_

_A word echoed through his mind, loud and unyielding._

_Freak. _

_Freak, freak, freak, freak…_

_Fucking freak…_

_A monster and a freak…_

_They hated him._

_His eyes fell back forward, searching wildly, frantically over the thicket, trees and grass and dirt. Dark. _

_He was a freak…_

_He was a monster…_

_They told him so… they… who were they?_

_Everyone. Everyone out there. Out there, beyond those trees. He could hear them. He could hear them saying it…_

_Freak, monster, freak…_

_Nothing, nothing, you're nothing…_

"_Yo… you're nothing…" he whispered to the dark. "You're nothing…"_

_He couldn't remember._

_Gone. All gone._

_But the pain. Not the pain. That was there… that was there still._

_Pain, pain… who needed pain?  
_

_Heh… who needed pain? _

"_You can…" he staggered to his feet. "Y-you can have your p-pain…" he whispered, stumbling forward. "You c-can…"_

_He fell through the trees, arms outreached, catching himself on the branches, on the trunks, pushing himself past._

"_You can, heh… you can, hehehe have your pain…"_

_His pace quickened, stumbling faster, urgent, pressing._

"_You can have your pain!" _

_Faster._

"_YOU CAN HAVE YOUR PAIN!" _

_He ran, ran as fast as he could, as hard as he could, crashing half in to the thick Cottonwoods, stumbling, gaining his footing again, running again._

_Run, run, run… Running until his heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest._

"_YOU CAN, Heeheehee, YOU CAN H-HAVE YOUR… YOU P-PAIN, Hahahahaha! HAVE IT, YOU CAN HAVE IT!"_

_And he ran until he reached the woods edge, where he collapsed on his knees, his chest heaving, his breath coming out a thin wheeze, and still he burned, all over, still their hatred._

"_You can…" he fell to his hands, head hanging. "You can h-have yo… your pa… your pain…heehee…" His eyes squeezed shut. "You can h-have it…" _

_Tears pushed past his lids, sliding down his cheeks. _

_So much pain…_

_Nothing else._

_Nothing else._

_Only pain._

_There was only pain for him, nothing else. _

"_You can have your pain…" he whispered. "You can have it…"_

_He sobbed, his face breaking, lining in agony, his mouth pulling down at the sides._

_A mask of pain._

_Mixed… mixed… crying, laughter, crying…_

"_You, heehee… you can take it back now…I don't… d-don't want it… I don't want it…"_

_Sobbing, laughter… _

"_I'll give it to you back… I… I'll give it to you back, a-all of you… heehee."_

_He couldn't remember. _

_He couldn't remember why. Couldn't remember who._

_But it didn't matter. It didn't matter._

_There was no why, no who. It didn't matter. There just was. Just was._

_Just _is_._

_None of it mattered._

_None of them, none of this, none of him… him, him, him…_

_He couldn't remember, no name, no place, no one._

_Just pain, there was pain. _

_And hatred, pain and hatred, received, given, received._

_He didn't want it. He didn't want anything. Nothing from them… nothing from them, from anyone._

_They could have it back. He would give it to them back._

_Their pain, their hatred._

_He would give it to them back._

_Heehee… _

_They could have it back. _

_There was no use for it with him anymore. No use, no nothing… he was nothing, nothing inside, nothing inside… no pain, no hatred, just was, just was…_

_He just was, they just were. Their pain, their hatred… _

_They'd given it to him._

_And he would give it to them back._

_Yes he would._

_Heeheheehee._

_He would give it to them back._

_Because none of that mattered anymore._

_None of that mattered to someone who was nothing inside._

…

… _Pain only hurt when you cared._

/

**Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. And thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter. Remember, reviews really help me a lot, so please leave one. Next chapter we pick back up where Batman and Jack left off.**


	29. Chapter 29

**Hey guys. So, new chapter here. As usual, thanks goes out to my beta, TheMadCapLaughs for all her help. Hope you guys enjoy the chapter and please remember to leave reviews.**

**Chapter 29:**

Every now and then, Batman would see Jack glance at him from his periphery before looking quickly away again.

The crusader could see he was afraid of him, which was as strange as everything else.

Because the Joker had _never _been afraid of him.

It would be nearly twenty-five minutes before they reached the cave. As they approached the cave's maw, Batman was surprised to feel a mild kind of relief, realizing that the silence had been unsettling to him. In the past, whenever he'd had the Joker with him, the lunatic hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut for more than a few seconds at best. Jack's contrasting silence was bizarre.

Bruce radioed through to Alfred, telling the butler to not come down to the cave until informed otherwise. Alfred, being Alfred, hadn't burdened him with asking why.

Jack's eyes widened as the heavy metal doors - camouflaged as the surrounding rock - parted, allowing them entry. His expression remained that way as they pulled onto the runway and then the landing, eventually coming to a halt.

"Watch out." Batman said before pressing the button to open the roof.

Jack turned towards him, unsure of what he meant, and a moment later, the roof slid open, Jack looking up, startled. The roof of the cave was gargantuan. Sets of tiny lights blinked at him. As Jack's vision adjusted to the dark, he realized they were the eyes of bats, regarding him softly. The silence was broken only by the occasional sound of beating wings far above, as the bats fluttered from one rocky crevice to another.

Without a word, Batman leapt from the cabin, one, swift motion, landing almost silently on the ground.

"Come with me," he said.

For a long moment, Jack watched him with uncertain eyes, before deciding he better do as he was told. The giant man hadn't done anything to him yet, but he knew all too well that could change in an instant, should he mess up in some way.

Slowly, he undid his seatbelt and stood, struggling as he climbed awkwardly over the car's edge, lowering himself carefully on to the ground.

By the time he finally turned around, Batman was already halfway across the space. Jack hurried to follow him.

But he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering about the giant, cavernous area, taking in the incredible array of objects. Jack was sure he'd never seen anything like it. It resembled a strange museum, showcasing the outrageous and extreme.

He noticed first a giant replica of a Tyrannosaurus Rex dinosaur, accurately proportioned from the looks of it. The dinosaur looked real – was it stuffed? – but no, that wasn't possible; dinosaurs had been extinct for 65 million years, and Batman wasn't that old. His attention was diverted by a giant penny equal in size, standing at least twenty feet high, and Jack found himself wondering how one could possibly acquire such marvels.

He then noticed the great array of computer monitors and consoles, far more advanced-looking than anything he'd ever seen. "Are you rich?" he asked, as he hobbled along behind the vigilante.

Batman grunted.

"I have resources," he replied vaguely.

"Oh." Jack breathed, his eyes continuing to roam.

Within seconds he noticed a giant playing card, looming from the dark, sporting a face that bore a disconcerting similarity to the one he'd seen in the dim reflection of the Plexiglas, in that cell they'd kept him in.

Without really thinking, he started towards it, his curiosity peaking. He stared up at the card, his head tilted to the side as he studied the image. A white face with an impossibly wide grin, all the teeth visible, head adorned by a jester's hat. It was a replica Joker card of the type found in packs produced by the Monarch company. Jeannie had owned a Monarch pack; he'd use it to play cards with her, or perform tricks for her. Dimly, he recalled the two Jokers; one with a red hat and white collar, the other with a black hat and red collar.

Then it struck Jack. _Joker._ That's what they'd been calling him in that prison they called a hospital.

Batman glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was still being followed, only to find Jack had stopped, and was now standing, staring up at the giant playing card, his expression puzzled and afraid.

The vigilante sighed.

He'd forgotten about that, but should have realized it would in the least trigger some kind of recognition in Jack, considering the card had once _belonged _to him; that he'd used it in one of his countless elaborate schemes against the detective.

He wouldn't remember that now, but the impression would still be there, doubtless.

Batman began towards him.

"Is… is that what I look like?" Jack asked timidly, looking down at his white hands.

Batman exhaled loudly.

"You look similar," he said.

There was a long pause.

"… Why?" Jack asked after a moment.

"It's a long story…" Batman said. "There'll be a chance to discuss it later. But not right now. We've got to get to the hospital."

Jack nodded vaguely, his eyes moving back to the card.

"Okay," he said after a moment, wishing he weren't so confused. Nothing made any sense to him; it all seemed unreal.

Batman again turned, walking away, expecting Jack to follow suit.

And for a few feet, Jack did, until he caught sight of a long table, sporting a number of beakers and test tubes, microscopes and other pieces of equipment.

He stepped towards it.

"Oh, wow…" he murmured to himself. His eyes scanned over the numerous instruments, hot plates and beakers containing chemicals, and several papers containing handwritten notes.

He bent down, examining some of the writing on a sticky pad next to a vial containing a yellow liquid. The note detailed the chemicals components and their amounts, and he knew right away what the chemist intended to concoct.

Without pause Jack reached out, plucking the vial from its holder, and brought it to his face, scrutinizing it.

"Put that _down_!" Batman snapped, and Jack startled, jumping and fumbling the vial in his hands, trying desperately to catch it before it went crashing to the floor. The liquid seeped onto the ground, hissing, then dissolved.

"Oh no! Oh no, no, no!" Jack began, his voice shaking. "I… I'm sorry. I di-din't me-mean… I wa-was j-just looking."

Batman came stalking towards him, more agitated then angry. He'd forgotten for a moment who he was speaking to. Seeing the Joker messing around at his chemistry lab had set him off.

Certain Batman was going to hit him, Jack reared backwards, trembling.

"I-I thought that m-maybe… maybe I could help you wi-with this…" he stammered, again stepping back as Batman came within a few feet, glaring at him.

"Help me?" Batman questioned, his voice heavy.

Jack nodded weakly.

"It… it's an anti-neurotoxin you're trying to make, right?"

The vigilante eyed him intently, saying nothing for several seconds.

"… You figured that out by looking at my notes?"

"Y-yes Sir… Batman, I mean," Jack nodded, stepping further back. "B-but you're using the incorrect base."

Batman said nothing for a moment, relaxing his stance, suddenly interested in what Jack had to say. He'd been working on this formula the last, few weeks, not religiously, but enough to the point of frustration at not having been able to get it right quickly.

"Go on," he said, folding his arms.

Jack swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath.

"You need an organophosphate-degrading enzyme. Organophosphorus Hydrolase, or Organophosphorus Acid Anhydrollase. Either one of those would work. It depends on whether you want it in the form of a decontaminating foam, if it's for surface remediation, or, um, an encapsulating enzyme for in-vivo therapy."

For nearly a minute, Batman remained silent, studying Jack closely.

He was right, Bruce realized, and he was an absolute genius, that was clear. He'd known it before, having dealt with the Joker and his multitudinous array of toxins. But it was Jack's sudden burst of articulateness that struck him the most. His evident ease as he talked about this stuff. The stammer had momentarily gone. Clearly, this was easy territory for Jack; a comfort zone of sorts. But he didn't sound like the Joker, either. He sounded calm, rational, matter-of-fact; _sane._

It occurred to Batman that he'd just witnessed something fairly remarkable; a fleeting glimpse of the man Jack Napier might have been, had he avoided the chemical dip - or grown up in a nurturing and supportive home environment.

Seeing his brilliance displayed without malicious intent, seeing it used for the purpose of doing good, not bad, cast it in an entirely different light for Batman. For the first time in a long time, he thought about how he could utilize that genius; how it could be used to better things, not make them worse. And for the first time, it seemed, perhaps that was actually possible, that it wasn't just a pipe dream, but something truly attainable.

But right now, that would have to wait, as Bruce remembered the task at hand.

"That's good advice." Batman answered. "I hadn't thought of it… Thank you."

Jack's gaze quickly fell to the floor, unsure of how to react.

He wasn't at all used to being thanked, for anything. And he'd been so sure he'd done the wrong thing, he wasn't sure why Batman was thanking him at all.

After a moment, he heard the detective again speak.

"Let's go."

Jack glanced up at him.

"D… do you want me to c-clean this?" he asked softly.

"No." Batman answered quickly, turning and beginning to walk.

Jack stood and watched a moment, when Batman looked over his shoulder at him.

"Are you coming?" he asked sharply, and Jack snapped to attention, looking down sheepishly and nodding.

It was then Bruce noticed another difference; even though it wasn't logically possible.

Jack seemed of lesser stature than the Joker.

Bruce knew the reasoning behind the illusion.

Jack walked hunched forward, his head held down, his arms held in close to his body, or wrapped around his torso. The Joker, on the other hand, stood straight and tall, showing off his considerable height to full intimidating effect, his head held high. His stride was long, with a pronounced strut. It oozed confidence, cockiness, majesty. Jack, on the other hand, walked with a short, jerky stride, seeming almost to wobble as he moved. Jack's stride, Bruce noted, was ironically more akin to a clown's than the Joker's had ever been.

But then, Batman had never really considered the Joker to be a clown in the first place.

Cruelty had been Jack's constant companion, and Bruce had to keep reminding himself of this fact as he tried to push aside his feelings of hostility towards the Joker. Batman exhaled sharply, turning and again starting for his inventory of extra suits.

Jack continued after him, looking up every now and then to take in his surroundings. He knew he should keep his curiosity in check, that it was likely going to get him in to even more trouble, but he couldn't help it. He'd never seen any place like this, nor any of the items in it. It was like being on a movie set, or inside a giant toyshop.

Whoever this man was, he was exceptional. That was obvious just to look at him. He was large and imposing, yet he moved with a deft smoothness; balanced, effortless, and unbelievably fast. His reaction time was something to behold; his senses alert beyond all reason. Jack wondered if he had total recall. _He must have trained for years to get this way,_ Jack thought. _Maybe he's an ex-Marine or something._

Jack's attention was caught particularly when he looked to his left and saw an array of glass display cases, each showcasing a costume, several of which looked similar to the one Batman now wore. Some looked like older versions. Others were obviously designed for specific purposes, each containing the bat-ears and bat-symbol emblazoned on the chest; there was a high-tech wet suit for underwater use, one with an attached jet pack, and another that looked like it was designed for use in space. There were other costumes, too. A female version of his own suit, plus a series of outfits apparently designed for a young boy or teenager, each featuring a red, medieval-style top with an 'R' badge, a yellow cape, green pants and a domino mask.

His eyes scanned over each, taking them in, when they fell upon one in particular, different from the others. It looked like it must have been brightly colored at one time, but was now soiled and dull, tattered, in some spots torn to shreds.

Once again, his curiosity took over, and he began towards the case.

When Batman no longer heard steps behind him, he turned, an immediate rush dropping down through his stomach when he saw where it was Jack was headed.

He stepped quickly after him, his mouth opening to tell him no, to stop and come with him.

But Jack had already reached the case, and was staring at it intently.

"Was… was this yours?" he asked.

Batman felt his hands clench to fists, his jaw setting tight.

This wasn't any good. This wasn't any good at all.

"It belonged to my son_,_" he said, his voice heavy with warning.

But Jack seemed oblivious, continuing to study the damaged suit, stepping closer to examine the burnt threads and charcoal-colored patches.

"Your son?"

Batman said nothing. He was watching Jack now with deadly eyes, his apprehension returning. _Perhaps "Jack" is doing this on purpose,_ he thought. Perhaps this was all some trick of the Joker's, a way to worm his way further inside Batman's world and wreak havoc on his mind and emotions.

"It's been burnt," Jack continued, unaware of Batman's growing anger. "Did… did something happen?"

"… There was an explosion." Batman hissed through gritted teeth.

Jack turned towards him, a look of shock in his eyes.

"Oh, no. I-is he… is he alright?" His voice shook with the question, clearly upset.

Batman glared at him hard now, his eyes cold. He could feel himself stiffen, his own body going rigid with rage.

The look of pure unknowing in Jack's eyes told him this wasn't a game; that he really _didn't_ understand what he was asking. But it failed to quell Batman's sudden, all-consuming anger. The idea of such questions coming from the Joker's own lips - asking in apparent ignorance about a boy _he'd_ killed - pushed him past all reasoning, slamming against a nerve forever raw. A tragedy Bruce would never be able to move past, no matter what had happened since.

Jack noticed, flinching visibly, stepping back as Batman reached for him, grabbing him by the shirt and jerking him forward with little effort.

"He _isn't_ alright and you KNOW that!"

Jack's entire expression had morphed in to one of complete terror, his eyes huge, his brow creased, his mouth hung open, unable to form words.

Batman stared back at him, teeth bared in a snarl.

But as the seconds passed, Batman grew more and more aware of the unadulterated fear on Jack's face, and soon he noticed the thin man trembling within his grasp.

It dawned on him what he was doing, the mistake he was making.

In a growl of frustration at his own lack of control, he shoved Jack away.

And Jack stepped back, stumbling away, making it only a few feet before his legs gave out beneath him and he crumpled to the ground. Instinctively his hands came up over his head as he curled his body into a shell, trying to protect himself from a hypothetical beating, his entire frame shaking.

"I-I'm ss-sorry! I-I'm s-sorry!" he cried, hoping it would somehow stop the enraged man from beating him senseless. "Pah-please, I'm ss-s-sorry…"

Batman stared at him, momentarily stunned by this display of naked terror from the man he considered his deadliest adversary. But he wasn't dealing with the Joker. The detective's heart sank as he saw how _afraid _Jack was; a fear only his father had ever really been able to instill. That he somehow reminded Jack of the brute appalled and saddened him, and it snapped him back to his senses.

Cautiously, he stepped towards the still trembling man, and bending down just slightly, he held out a hand.

Jack sensed his approach, and fell away, halfway on to his back, curling his arms tighter over his head.

"Please…" he continued to beg, his voice sounding frail. "Don't… d-don't hit me…" And Batman only felt worse.

Why the hell had he _done_ that?

This man didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve to be made to feel this way. Not after everything he'd already been through.

He sighed.

"I'm not going to hurt you Jack," he said, making sure to soften his tone. "I'm… sorry for getting angry at you. It was my fault. I shouldn't have done that."

Several seconds past, Jack not moving from his position, still keeping his head covered, and Batman decided it was best to just wait for him, to not make any sudden movements.

And finally, after nearly a minute, it yielded results. Jack slowly and hesitantly lowered his arms from his head, staring up at the vigilante with wide, uncertain eyes. He was still very much afraid, but at least he could look at him again. That was a start.

Batman lowered his hand further, offering it for him to take.

But Jack wouldn't move, continuing to sit there, looking up at him as a child might.

It was clear he was still too frightened to make any real moves, and finally, after a long moment, the crusader sighed, reaching out and taking gentle hold of Jack's wrist, pulling him up from the floor.

Jack gasped audibly at the contact, and it didn't escape Bruce's notice how _easily_ he was able to pull him up, how incredibly _light_ he seemed. Jack gave no resistance, no struggle. So utterly different from the Joker, who at times fought with the strength of a demon, often escaping Batman's grasp from twisting and turning and wriggling so hard.

Once he had the thin man steady on his feet, stabilizing him by holding him under the arms, Bruce forced a small smile.

"You're alright now." .

Jack blinked at him.

"You aren't going t-to hit me?" .

And Bruce shook his head, feeling his heart sink.

"No." He answered. "And I'm sorry if I made you think I was. I was angry about something, but it… it wasn't your fault. Not _yours._"

Still Jack stared in puzzlement.

"I… I'm sorry." He said softly after a moment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

Batman shook his head.

"No. It wasn't your fault, Jack. Alright? Don't apologize. It wasn't you. It was … someone else. Someone who isn't you."

A long moment of silence passed between them.

"You aren't mad at me?" Jack asked.

Batman shook his head.

"No, I'm not." He gave Jack's arms a gentle squeeze. "Now come on. Let's get you suited up."


	30. Chapter 30

**Hey guys, next chapter up. Again, huge thanks goes to my beta TheMadCapLaughs. Please remember to leave reviews, as they really do help me and encourage further writing. **

**And thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter.**

**Hope you guys enjoy!**

**Chapter 30:**

With some hesitation, Jack followed, looking up every few seconds at the crusader before again bringing his eyes to the floor.

He still didn't know if he should trust him. He was confused about what had just happened, why Batman had gotten so angry, the things he'd said to him. Why the anger had suddenly vanished. Clearly, the guy got upset easily.

Abruptly, Batman stopped, and Jack stopped with him, freezing as the vigilante turned, regarding him carefully.

"Actually…" he began, regarding Jack's ragged form. He didn't know why he hadn't really noticed it before, perhaps he'd been too consumed with his concern over Ms. Reinking, but he realized in that moment how terrible Jack looked and smelled. Like he hadn't showered in over a week, maybe more. Not to mention the telltale signs of extreme physical discomfort. He was in pain, though he hadn't made any complaints.

And it was unusual for Batman to ever see the Joker presented as anything less than clean-cut. He was almost always dressed to the nines, and even in his Arkham uniform, the madman took care to appear and always _be_ clean. Something was clearly the matter. He wasn't taking care of himself. Not that the Joker ever really had, or even knew _how_. He was sick, after all, and there had been occasions where Batman had come upon him when it had been apparent he hadn't eaten for days, even weeks at a time, the reason being that he'd simply _forgotten_ to. But he always had this deceptively boundless energy, like he didn't need sustenance, save for the oxygen of his own ego.

Moreover, he'd seen the Joker hurt himself more times than he could count. The doctors and nurses at Arkham would grow agitated, thinking it a grab for attention. But whenever Bruce had seen the Joker do such things, it had never struck him as anything but tragic, because he could see in those moments the burden of possessing such a ceaselessly working, erratic mind. He would hurt himself in the hopes of attaining a kind of relief, an attempt at rising above the things he didn't understand.

No, the Joker didn't know how to take care of himself at all. And, Bruce thought, neither did Jack, seeing how he suffered in silence.

Jack was staring at him, wide eyed and with nervous anticipation.

Batman reached down and opened a pouch along his belt. He pulled a small bottle from it, unscrewing the cap.

"Over here," he said, indicating with a nod of his head. He headed towards a corner of the cave which housed a sink and wash basin.

Jack tottered over uncertainly. He looked on as Batman pulled a paper cup from a dispenser, turned on the sink's faucet and filled the cup with water.

He turned towards Jack.

"Here," he ordered, handing him the cup and bottle. "Take these."

Jack stared at the outreached items with suspicion in his eyes.

"W… what's in them?"

"It's just Ibuprofen. You're in pain."

Jack looked mildly surprised before his eyes fell back to the floor, his expression ashamed.

"… I'm sorry," he muttered.

Batman's eyes narrowed, puzzled.

"What for?"

But Jack didn't answer, his head hanging lower.

"Jack…" Bruce started again. "Jack, what are you sorry for?"

Jack turned his face away, to the side.

"For… for disappointing you?"

He'd said it like it should be obvious to all and sundry. This was why Jack hadn't said a word about how he was feeling.

"Jack…" he said. "It's alright to tell me when you're in pain. It's alright."

Jack only shook his head.

Bruce's brow furrowed. That bastard had done this to him. Conditioned him to think it somehow wrong to acknowledge when you were in pain.

"I'm not disappointed in you Jack," Batman went on. "Listen to me, when you're in pain, when you're suffering, you need to _tell_ someone. You shouldn't ever be ashamed to ask for help. Everyone needs help sometimes. Understand? You need to let them know. It isn't good for you to just ignore these things, or to keep it to yourself."

"But…" Jack started.

The vigilante cut him off.

"Jack, whatever your father told you, it was wrong. Listen to _me_."

And at this, the thin man finally looked up, his eyes wide.

"Here," Bruce held out the water and pills. "Just take two of them. You'll feel better."

For a moment, Jack stared back then reached out, taking the cup.

"Hold out your other hand." Batman instructed, and Jack did as he told, the crusader shaking two pills out in to his palm.

Jack stared at the round tablets a moment before swallowing them.

"Thank you."

The vigilante nodded in reply.

"Now…" he began, taking the empty cup from Jack. "Over there's a bathroom…" he pointed in the direction of a standalone structure in a corner opposite the one they now stood. "It has a shower. I think you should take one before we go to see your wife. It would do you good."

Jack glanced over.

"A sh-shower?"

The crusader gave a nod.

"Yes. You obviously haven't had one in a while and it will help you to take one."

Jack's eyes flitted down, his frame visibly tensing.

"Jack?" Batman queried, noting the man's nervousness..

Jack stared at the floor.

"What's wrong?" Batman pushed.

Jack's fingers curled in to his palms, his throat feeling suddenly dry.

"Do you not want to take one?"

The man shook his head.

It wasn't that. He'd have loved to take a shower, in truth. Back at that place – the hospital - they hadn't mentioned it to him as an option. He hadn't asked them, either, because he was afraid of what might happen… in there.

"I … want to but you'll …you'll see me."

Batman frowned quizzically. "I'll… see you?"

And Jack only nodded.

Bruce shook his head.

"Jack, I _won't _see you. I'll be out here. "

"B-but you might come in!" Jack exclaimed, frantic.

Again the detective shook his head.

"Jack, I won't come in. Why would I do that?"

The thin man folded his arms around himself, looking back down.

"B-because you can. Because it's your bathroom."

Batman looked at him in shock now, though he couldn't really explain to himself why he felt surprised. From everything he'd heard of Jack's childhood and young adult life, he hadn't ever been afforded a moment of privacy.

The vigilante sighed deeply.

"There's an inside lock on the door. And the shower door is made from a special mirrored glass. You can see out of it, but nobody can see in."

And Jack glanced up at him, his eyes both curious and unsure.

"You… you'd let me l-lock the door?" he asked, disbelievingly.

"Of course I would!" Batman replied, astonished. "Why wouldn't I?"

"It… it's your bathroom…" Jack said in nearly a whisper, as if that should be explanation enough, again looking down.

A sickening realization dawned on the Bat, and he frowned deeply. .

"Jack…" he began. "Your father used to interrupt you in the bathroom, didn't he?"

Jack nodded, his mind flooding with the memories.

"All the time." he whispered.

_He heard the knob rattle, followed by the door creaking on its hinges as it opened. He froze in terror, backing up against the wall._

_His breath came in short, rapid bursts as he heard his father's footsteps. Within moments the curtain had been drawn back and he saw the man standing there, staring back at him with disgust._

_Mortified, Jack wrapped his arms around his torso, humiliation burning his cheeks as he sank to the floor. The water continued to spray into his eyes, stinging them. _

"_Get outta there!" hissed his father as he reached out and grabbed hold of Jack's wrist, yanking him forward._

_Jack yelped in fear as his father dragged him from the stall, violently tossing him across the floor. He landed hard on the cold tile, his thin and bony frame providing no cushion._

"_You been in there more then five minutes, boy!" he barked, regarding his son with distain. "You better not have used up all the hot water!"_

_Jack stared up at him, shivering and cold, the cool air assaulting his bare skin. Bruises were already forming along his right hip and lower back. He shook his head._

"_I-I d-didn't, Sir." He wrapped his arms over his head in a vain attempt to hide. _

_His father only glared at him_

"_If you did…" he started, heavy warning in his voice. "You're gonna get it. And I mean get it. I'm going out with the boys tonight, Jackie. And seein' as there might be a fine dame or two around, I gotta smell good. And I _won't_ have a little shit like you spoiling my fun. Got that?"_

_Jack nodded weakly, not moving from the spot._

_His father's lip curled in agitation, and he grabbed a towel from the rack, throwing it hard at his son's face._

"_Get the hell out of here!" he raged. "I'm taking a shower."_

_Jack scrambled to his feet, using the towel to cover himself up, and without a word, he turned to leave._

"_And don't you drip water on the floorboards!" _

_Jack turned, his eyes fixed down._

"_Y-yes Sir," he managed before hurrying out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him._

**/**

_He stared blankly ahead, eyes unfocused as he sat with his back to the wall, legs folded underneath him atop his worn out mattress._

_He'd long since outgrown the bed, only really half his body fitting on the thing whenever he would lye down. But his father had never bothered with getting him a new one, and he hadn't ever even thought to ask. _

_He was thinking of Jeannie, about what she was doing tonight, where she was._

_He wished he could be with her, at her apartment. She'd moved in there when she started college, and he'd been there a few times, when his father had been away with his friends._

_She tried to get him to come more often, but he couldn't. His father would never allow it. His father never allowed him anywhere by himself. _

_Just sneaking out when Jack knew he wouldn't be around was risky enough, since he never really knew with his Dad, whether he was telling the truth or just pretending to be gone so he could catch his son in the act._

_Jeannie went out, he knew. She had college friends, and she went to places like bars with them, or dance clubs on the weekends. _

_It was Saturday and Jack thought she must be at one of those places now. He hoped she was having a good time._

_One time she'd brought him to a bar called Connelly's, when his father had been out of town. He'd never been to a place like that before, and he hadn't done a very good job of hiding his discomfort. It had been so _loud_ and he'd tried getting away from it, covering his ears with his hands, holding his head down. They'd only been in there a few minutes before Jeannie had taken him by the elbow and led him out. _

"_Are you okay?" She'd asked him once they'd gotten out on the street, putting her hands on his face and looking up at him. And he'd nodded. _

_But he'd been relieved to be out of that place. _

_Jeannie had said she wanted him to experience some of the city's culture. But he just wanted to be with her._

_His father was out now too. He'd gone out a few hours ago now. He'd told Jack before he left that he was planning on bringing another woman home later. His Dad often did that, found women who wanted to have sex with him. He would bring them back here, or sometimes he'd go to their home, or at least, that's what he told Jack, and have sex with them there. Sometimes when he did that, he'd be gone for a whole day, sometimes two._

_He'd pushed Jack in to his room, throwing an empty bucket at him and telling him, before he closed the door and locked him in, that when he came back, he didn't want to hear a sound out of him. That if he made any noise, he'd beat the living hell out of him. The bucket was for if Jack needed to go to the bathroom, since his room didn't have one. When his father brought women back, usually they would stay until the next morning._

_Jack could always hear what was going on. The walls of the apartment were thin, and he'd hear his father come in, than hear a woman laughing. It always seemed so different to him, then Jeannie's laughter. Jeannie's laughter was nice, it was warm and made him feel safe. These women always sounded a lot like the other girls he'd gone to school with, who would giggle and point at him in the hallways. Or like the way people laughed whenever he'd gotten shoved in to lockers or his books knocked out of his hands, or hit by one of the bigger boys. These women often sounded like that, not like Jeannie, whose laughter was kind._

_Sometimes he would hear his father laughing too. But his father's laughter always made him feel nervous, his stomach flipping at the sound, his body tensing. _

_He would always hear his father talking to them, telling them things that weren't true. Like that he had no children, or that he had a son who was highly intelligent but suffered severe mental and emotional problems, and so he was living with his grandparents. Jack thought that was strange. He didn't have any grandparents, none that he knew of anyway. None that he'd ever met. Obviously, his father had had parents, and his mother too, but they had no part in his life. He didn't even know if they were still alive. _

_His father would tell him to be quiet because he didn't want these women to know about him. He said if they knew what a freak of a son he had, they wouldn't want anything to do with him._

_The first time Jack had heard his father having sex, he'd been really afraid. He hadn't even known what sex was then, and the sounds his father had made seemed so out of place, coming from him. At first he'd thought something was wrong with him, that maybe he'd somehow been hurt, the way he was moaning, like he'd been struck across the head or something. _

_But he hadn't been._

_It wasn't until Jeannie had kissed and intimately touched him for the first time that he understood his father was making those sounds because he felt good. _

_Again he thought of how much he wished he could be with her right now, instead of locked in his room, alone._

_He was jarred from his thoughts when he heard a loud banging, coming from outside his room. _

_His head snapped up, looking to his door, feeling himself tense._

_What was that?_

_Again he heard the banging, and he was sure now it was coming from just outside the apartment, on the front door. He swallowed. That wouldn't be his father, would it? His father had a key. He could get in. Unless… unless he'd accidentally left his key here, and locked himself out. _

_He'd done that once before. And that time too he'd locked Jack in his bedroom before leaving. So Jack hadn't been able to get to the door to let him in, and his father had gotten angry about it. He'd had to call a locksmith using the payphone outside their building and when he'd finally gotten in, he'd blamed Jack over what happened and beaten him for it. _

_God, he hoped that wasn't the case now, his anxiety rising tenfold as the possibilities wandered through his mind._

_But then he heard a voice, carrying through the walls, and most certainly it wasn't his Dad's._

"_Jack?" He heard it call, and it was a woman's voice._

"_Jack?"_

_He started, sitting up on his knees._

_Jeannie?_

_His brow furrowed._

_Jeannie occasionally came out to his apartment, though it was rare. She usually only did so when he told her his father was away, and even then, it made him nervous. He didn't want her being around the Narrows really, considering the crime rate here was so much higher then in any other part of the city, and he also never could predict when his father would just all of a sudden show up. But Jeannie was strong willed. She'd told him many times she refused to be intimidated. _

_Jack hadn't been sure what to say to that. He didn't think she understood, didn't realize how mean his father was, how dangerous. He didn't want her around him at all._

_Again he heard the voice call his name, and he was sure now it was Jeannie._

_He stood from his bed, walking quickly to the door, pressing his ear flat against it to hear better._

_More knocking and again she called out._

"_Jack! Baby, are you in there?"_

_/_

_Jeannie's face lined in concern._

_She'd seen Jack's father as she was coming out of a club with a group of friends, going in to a bar across the street from her. She hadn't seen Jack with him. She never could keep her mind from Jack on the weekends, when she was out, couldn't stop thinking of him, trapped at home with no one. She'd tried more then once to get him to come with her, to go out on the town, but Jack always said he couldn't, that his father wouldn't let him._

_It was fucking _absurd_. Jack had just turned 21 years old a month ago and he was still living with that monster, still being controlled by him._

_Seeing his father out, by himself then, she knew Jack must be at the apartment alone, and she at once had the urge to go and see him, to be with him. So she'd excused herself to her friends, told them she just remembered she had some place to be, and left for the Narrows._

_Jack didn't like her coming here, but it destroyed her inside, knowing he was stuck here with no one while she was out, gallivanting about town, having fun. She had plenty of friends, plenty of people she could hang out with. Jack had only her. _

_She would spend every weekend with him if she could, if his bastard of a father wasn't always there, making sure Jack had no contact with anyone._

_So she was worried when she knocked on the door and there was no answer. _

_Jack hadn't been with his father, and she knew he never went out by himself._

_He had to be here then, but she could hear nothing from the other side._

_Again she knocked, again calling his name, and still no answer._

_Maybe he was sleeping? It _was_ pretty late. About 11:30. _

_She stepped back from the door, biting her lip._

_There was an alleyway out back, behind Jack's building from where she could see his bedroom window. She thought if she went out there and managed to chuck some gravel at the glass, he would hear her._

_She just wanted to make sure he was okay._

_So she turned, heading quickly down the stairwell and out the buildings front entrance._

_She moved fast then, going through a spacing between Jack's apartment complex and the building directly adjacent, around to the back._

_Looking up to his room window, she could see the light was on, and her brow furrowed._

_That was strange. _

_He must have heard her knocking if he wasn't asleep._

_Her eyes fell to the ground, scanning the pavement. _

_She spotted pebbles, scattered about, and bent to take a handful of them up._

_Again she looked up to Jack's window and trying to aim carefully, she tossed the small rocks at the glass. _

_/_

_Jack's head snapped towards his window, hearing the soft clatter against it. He blinked. A few moments later, and this time he saw a pebble hit the glass and quickly he stepped towards it, reaching it in just three strides and looking through, to the street below._

_He saw Jeannie, staring up at him, and almost immediately he felt himself tense._

_So it had been her at the door._

_But she shouldn't be here. His father might come home any moment._

_She was gesturing at him now, indicating that she wanted him to open the window._

_He gripped along the windows frame, straining a few seconds to get the thing up, it being stuck from so little use. _

_But finally he did, the frame giving a loud squeak as he moved it, and he leaned slightly out._

"_Jack!" Jeannie called up to him. "I knocked on the door. Didn't you hear me?"_

_He nodded._

"_Yes, I heard you." He replied._

_Confusion spread across Jeannie's features._

"_Why didn't you answer the door baby?" She asked, her hands resting at her hips._

_Jack's eyes slid away from her, looking left and right before casting down._

"_Jeannie, he… he might be back soon…" He said, his voice almost too quiet for her to hear._

"_Jack, you mean your father?"_

_And Jack nodded._

"_Jack, I wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw him when I was downtown. Baby, why didn't you come to the door? You must have heard me?"_

"_I'm… I'm not supposed to make any noise Jeannie." He said. "I-if he hears me…"_

"_Honey, what are you talking about? Did you hear me knock?"_

_For a few moments, he was silent, his eyes still cast away. And then again he nodded._

"_Then why didn't you answer the door Jack?"_

_Again, several seconds of silence, and then he answered…_

"_I… I couldn't."_

"… _You couldn't?" She questioned._

_And he shook his head._

"_Why not Jack? Why couldn't you answer?"_

"… _I'm… I'm locked in." He said softly. _

"_Locked in?" Jeannie exclaimed, alarmed. "You mean in your room?"_

_Once more he gave a nod._

_Her brow furrowed._

"Why_?" She asked. _

"_M-my father…" he started. "He said he… he might bring a girl home tonight. Th-they're not supposed to know I'm here."_

_She was about to say something when Jack suddenly straightened, his head turning back, looking over his shoulder._

_He'd gone stark still, and she watched him a long, few moments._

"_Jack?" She asked when he didn't move._

_But still he stayed turned from her, saying nothing._

"_Jack!"_

_/_

_He heard Jack almost immediately upon coming through the threshold of the apartment's front door, and immediately rage had exploded inside him. _

_He'd told the woman he was with that he had no children, and now that little bastard was threatening to blow his cover._

"_What was that?" He heard her ask. "I thought you said you lived alone?"_

_His hands clenched to fists, his mind racing with how to recover his lie. _

_Either way, the night was ruined._

_He was going to kill that fucking faggot._

_Slowly he turned towards her, licking his lips._

"_I do." He said, thinking quickly. "There's an intruder."_

"_A… an intruder?" The woman asked, alarmed._

_Collin nodded._

"_I think maybe you should go."_

"_But…" she began to protest._

"_It isn't safe right now Cindy." He cut her short. "I'll take care of it, but you need to go home."_

"_Wi… will you be okay?" She asked. "I mean, what if…"_

"_It's fine." He again interrupted. "This sort of thing happens periodically. Some idiot breaks in, hoping to rob the place. Just punks who need a little lesson in manners. But you need to go home, _now_."_

_The look of bewilderment didn't leave the woman's face, but she didn't protest further._

"_Can you lend me some money for a cab?" She asked._

_Collin reached in to his back pocket, pulling his wallet and handing her a twenty._

"_Is that enough?" He asked._

_And she nodded._

_He waited then for her to leave, and as soon as she'd gone through the entrance and disappeared down the stairwell, he moved to close the door, locking it before turning towards Jack's room, walking quickly for it, his face already twisted in disgust._

_/_

"_Jack, what's going on?" Jeannie called up to him, her voice now laced in concern as he continued not to answer._

"_Jack!"_

_Her eyes went wide as suddenly she heard a loud crash._

_Jack fell away to his right, out of her view, and then there was yelling, his father's voice, loud and harsh._

"_I told you not to make a sound boy!" She heard him say. "I had a _woman_ with me! You sissified little _faggot_! But she left! Soon as she heard you! She left cause you couldn't keep your God damned mouth shut!"_

_She heard Jack say something, his voice too soft to make out the words, and then his father yelling again._

"_Shut the fuck up! C'mere you little shit!" _

_She heard Jack cry out in pain, her entire form shaking as her fear grew._

"_Jack! JACK!" She screamed, but received only the sound of more crashing, things breaking in return._

"_Shut up! Shut up you Goddamned pansy! Quit your fucking crying!"_

_Panic gripped her._

_Christ almighty, what was she going to do? _

_She had to help him! She had to _do _something!_

_Her eyes scanned the ground, searching desperately for something, anything which she could use._

_She glimpsed what looked like a piece of metal, sticking out from under a pile of broken down cardboard boxes, and immediately she went for it._

_Grabbing hold of it and pulling it out, she saw it was a crowbar._

_Perfect, if she was going to get the lock off the front door._

_She wasn't going to allow this to go on any longer._

_Running back around to the front of the building, she quickly ascended the stairwell, reaching the apartment door._

_She could hear Jack's father continuing to yell, and loud banging, like something heavy being thrown against the floor or walls._

_Her fear grew, and she only bothered with rapping on the door a few times before she gave up, knowing that monster wasn't going to answer. He'd already likely heard her, down on the street, calling up to Jack. _

_She took the hooked end of the bar, readying it over the door's handle, her other hand gripping tight to the bars other end._

_And then she drove it down, hard as she could, and then again, and on the second try, the knob snapped, falling apart on either end, the lock coming undone with it._

_Immediately she pushed the door open, not hesitating in stepping in to the apartment._

_She could hear better now what was happening, flesh hitting flesh, Jack crying softly out with each blow._

_Her hand tightened around the crowbar as cautiously she approached the bedroom._

_Her heart seemed to freeze in her chest at the sight, Jack pinned back against the wall, his father holding him in place by the collar of his shirt, fist reared, ready to strike him. Jack's face was bloodied, it flowing from his nose and mouth, his eyes wide with fear, his clothes rumpled. Jeannie realized in that moment what the banging sound had been, that Jack's father had been slamming him against the walls. _

_Her voice momentarily caught in her throat as she watched his father slam a curled fist in to Jack jaw, knocking his head back, it hitting the wall. _

_Jack's entire form was limp, and she could see it was his father holding him up, not his legs. _

_He was completely defenseless._

_She felt rage explode inside her._

_It was like a full grown man beating up a child._

_Complete cowardice. _

_Jack didn't have a chance and his bastard of a father _knew_ it._

_And her voice came quickly back to her._

"_STOP!" She screamed, just as Jack's father was again about to hit him, and the punch stopped midway._

_The man turned, looking straight at her, Jack's gaze too turning her way._

"_Leave him the _hell_ alone!" She spit, stepping closer, brandishing the crowbar visibly. _

_Collin's mouth pulled suddenly in to a sickening grin._

"_What's this?" He chuckled, his hand still buried tight in Jack's shirt. "Come to rescue your fag of a boyfriend? I wonder little lady, do you know your _man's_ secretly in to _guys_?"_

_Jeannie's jaw tightened._

"_Let him go." She said, her voice hard, unwavering._

_Collin smirked._

"_Okay." He said, uncurling his hand._

_Immediately Jack collapsed, hard. Jeannie's eyes went briefly to him before moving quickly back to his father._

"_Now step _away _from him." She ordered._

"_And what if I don't?" His father asked smugly._

"_Then I give you a taste of your own fucking medicine." Jeannie answered fast._

_Collin's smile grew._

"_Pff. You don't have the guts to use that thing bitch."_

"_You wanna test that theory?" She said, ignoring the insult. _

_Jack's father was still a moment, watching her carefully, his eyes dropping to the crowbar, than lifting back to her face, as if trying to determine her sincerity._

_But she wasn't playing. She was ready to crush the son of a bitches skull in, if need be._

_Jack watched with wide and panicked eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. _

_He wanted to tell Jeannie to go, to run._

_Suddenly Collin took a step towards her, a bluff, wanting to test her seriousness._

_But Jack was sure he was going to attack, and he reacted, reaching out._

"_No!" He cried. "D-don't!" His hand wrapped round his father's ankle._

_And his father turned angrily, looking down on his son with hatred._

"_You little fucker!" He spit, rearing his other foot back, ready to kick Jack across the face._

"_NO!" Jeannie yelled, stepping again towards him, now close enough to hit him with the bar. "Don't you fucking DARE!"_

_His father turned back towards her, his face twisted in rage._

_Jack had shrunk back, anticipating the blow, his hand stilled holding to Collin's ankle._

"_I'll take your God damned head off if you lay another _finger_ on him!" She warned._

_For several, long seconds, Jack's father stared at her, and she reared the crowbar back, ready to rake the thing across his face, his expression turning from a scowl in to a frown as he saw she was prepared to attack._

_He looked back down at Jack, shaking his leg angrily._

"_Get the hell off me!" He hissed._

"_D-don't hurt her." Jack stammered, his voice shaking._

"_He's not going to hurt me Jack." Jeannie said. "He's too much of a _coward_."_

_Again his father turned to her, glaring, not moving._

_Silence filled the space for several seconds._

_And finally his father spit…_

"_Fuck this shit! Get your God damned hands off me boy! I'm going out!"_

_But Jack didn't move, didn't release his grip._

"_You wanna die Jack?" His father raged. "Let me the fuck GO!"_

"_Let him go Jack. It's okay." Jeannie said, not taking her eyes from his father._

_Jack looked to her. He was shaking visibly. _

_Her eyes went to him briefly, nodding, and slowly his hand uncurled from around his father's ankle._

_She looked back to his Dad, still brandishing the crowbar threateningly._

_A few moments more of them staring at one another before finally Collin shook his head in apparent disgust, moving past her._

"_You two losers can have each other." He mumbled._

_Neither Jack nor Jeannie said anything then as his father disappeared from the room, and she watched to make sure he'd gone through the apartment's front door before turning back to Jack, going quickly to him, bending down by his side._

"_Baby, are you alright?" She asked, concerned. "Oh God, look what he did to you." She reached out, touching his face gently. There was already visible bruising, along his jaw and over his left eye. _

"_Jeannie you… y-you shouldn't have c… come." He stumbled. "He could have… he could have h-hurt you."_

"_Jack, don't worry about that honey…" she began, taking him by the arm. "We've got to get you out of here."_

_She began to stand, pulling him up with her._

"_Jeannie I ca-can't leave." He started, but she cut him short, shaking her head._

"_Jack, you _have_ to." She said sternly. "And before your father gets back. This has gone on long enough. You're not safe here. You're coming to live with me, there's no arguing. Get your suitcase packed."_

_For a long moment he said nothing, his eyes cast down._

"… _I… I don't have a suitcase." He began finally, quietly._

"_Then a plastic bag, anything. Just get your stuff together Jack and make it quick. We've got to go now."_

_Again he went silent, not moving._

"Now_ Jack." She said forcefully, feeling a twinge of regret as she watched him flinch._

"… _O-okay." He said after a moment, turning from her and heading in to the kitchen._

_Jeannie watched him a moment before standing by the front door, crowbar still in hand as he gathered his things in to a trash bag. _

_It didn't take him long. He had nothing beyond his few clothes, save for some notebooks he used to draw in, and within a few minutes he was ready. _

_She could see from the way he came to stand by her his worry, his lack of surety. He was afraid, and she knew it was up to her to get him to make this step, to break free, out from this hell hole. _

_Her mouth twisted in to a frown at the thought of how she should have done this years ago, not really understanding why she hadn't. _

_Jack had always been so reluctant to even talk about it, always seeming to go quiet whenever she brought it up, nearly refusing to speak of it at all, and he told her repeatedly he didn't like her coming to the Narrows, to his apartment. That he thought it was just too dangerous._

_He needed pushing, to be forced. She'd allowed her adversity of being mean or blunt with him to keep her from it. No more. For his own good, no more._

_Without a word, she took him by the elbow, pulling him behind as she exited through the front door._

_They were halted only three steps down the stairwell when Jack's father suddenly appeared through the buildings front entrance, staring up at them with hard, cruel eyes._

"_Where do you think you're going Jackie-boy?" He asked, his voice low as he began up the steps, towards them._

_Jack's eyes dropped to the floor, growing silent, Jeannie positioning herself defensively in front of him._

"_He's coming with me." She said back. "Now get out of our way."_

_His father's eyes went wide in mock surprise, ignoring her, keeping his gaze on his son._

"_Is that right Jackie-boy? Are you going with her?"_

_Jack still said nothing, his head bowing lower in anxiety. _

"_Answer me Jack." Collin pushed. "You going with your little _slut_ here? You think you've got _any_ chance out there? Without me?"_

"_Get the hell out of our way!" Jeannie again demanded. "Or I swear to God, I'll use this." Again she brandished the crowbar._

_But the older man just ignored her._

"_You can't make it out there Jackie-boy. You know that as well as I do. You're not _well_ son. You don't know how to take care of yourself, _can't _take care of yourself. You know where you're gonna end up without me out there Jackie? You know what's gonna happen?"_

_Jack said nothing, and his father continued._

"_You know what they do with people like you boy? With people who can't take care of themselves? … They put em' in hospitals Jack. You know, asylums, sanitariums, places where they do everything for you cause you can't do it yourself. That's what's gonna happen to you Jackie-boy. You're gonna end up in an insane asylum because your fucked up in the head boy. Can't handle the real world."_

"_Shut up!" Jeannie hissed. "Jack, don't listen to him. Don't listen to a word he's saying. He's got _me_ you bastard. He doesn't need _you_. You're the _last _thing he needs."_

_Collin laughed._

"_You think you can take care of him?" He smiled meanly. "You got no idea girlie. No idea how _fucked up_ he is." Again he laughed. "This kid, heh, this kid's one hell of a hot mess."_

"_No…" Jeannie spit back. "No, he's _not_. It's you. It's the way you _treat_ him. If he has any problems, they've all been caused by _you_. Now get the hell out of our way or I'm going to disfigure your fucking face!"_

_But again Jack's father only laughed._

"_Go ahead, you nasty little whore. Hit me. I've just called the police. They should be here in about five minutes, and I'm sure they'd be real interested in hearing how you broke in to my home, beat the shit out of my boy and then beat the shit out of me. So go on, hit me. What is it you're getting for assault with a deadly weapon these days? Twenty-five to life?"_

_Jeannie stiffened, feeling Jack do the same._

_For a moment, she lost her voice, swallowing hard._

"… _They'd never believe you." She said finally. "It would be your word against mine and Jack's."_

"_Against _yours_." His father answered quickly. "Jack'll say whatever I tell him to say. Isn't that right Jacki-boy?"_

"_Jack won't lie for you, you _pig_." She didn't give Jack a chance to answer. _

"_Ha! He's told plenty of lies for me before!" Collin said confidently. "And anyway, even if he won't, how do you think this is gonna look? Your prints are all over that crowbar there, you busted the knob off my door, Jack's all beat to hell. He won't have the guts to tell the cops _I_ did it to him. Even if he won't say it was you, I'll tell em' it was, and they'll put his failure to corroborate down to shock, simple as. And then what? Won't be much you can do to help your faggot boy here if you're locked up in prison, is there? So you best be on your way sweetheart, before they get here."_

_Jeannie glared with rage filled eyes at the man, her hand tightening around Jack's._

"_Come on Jack." She said. "Let's go."_

_But when she pulled on him to follow, she felt him resist, and turning back, she saw him standing stark still, his head down._

"_Jack, come _on_. We're going."_

_His head began to shake._

"_J-Jeannie, please I… I d-don't want you to get in tr-trouble."_

"_I won't Jack. The police won't ever believe him, not when you tell them what happened. It's him who's going to end up in jail, not me. You won't tell them it was me, will you Jack? You wouldn't do that."_

"_I… I'd never lie about you Jeannie." He responded softly. _

"_Then you've got nothing to worry about." She reassured. "You just tell them it was your father who hurt you, that he's been hurting you for years."_

_Collin suddenly stepped up, closer to them._

"_You tell the cops I did anything to you Jackie-boy, and you know what'll happen."_

_Jack's eyes lifted briefly to his father, feeling a sudden resolve._

_He wouldn't lie about Jeannie. Not ever. He'd rather die then hurt her in any way._

"_I… I w-won't tell them it was her. It… it was you. Not her."_

_Jeannie turned to look at Collin, frowning deeply._

"_You heard that." She said. "It's you who's screwed here. Now get out of our way, unless you want to go to prison yourself."_

_Again Jack's father came closer, glaring at his son with vicious eyes._

"_You tell them anything you little piece of _shit_, and I swear to fucking God I'll kill this bitch of yours! I'll murder her right in front of you, make you _watch_ as I fuck her and then strangle the God damned _breath_ out of her!"_

"_Get the hell back!" Jeannie shouted. "Get back!"_

"_You think I won't do it boy?" He paid her no attention, staring at Jack. "I'll slit her fucking throat! And it'll be _your_ fault Jackie! Just like everything that goes bad. Your doing because like _always _you were selfish, couldn't think of anyone but yourself!"_

_Jack's entire expression had fallen, his frame beginning to shake._

"_You'll stay here boy, and you won't say a word to the cops, or you can kiss your slut here goodbye. She'll either end up in prison or fucking _dead_. Unless you get your ass back up in to your room, and then maybe she won't. Your call Jackie. You can either save her or send her down the river."_

"_Jack, don't listen to him! For Christ's sake, he's _manipulating_ you!" Jeannie pleaded, plastering herself back against him. "He's a coward! He'd never have the guts to do any of what he's saying!"_

"_Your call Jackie-boy." His father went on. "She says I'm bluffin'. But you know that ain't true boy. You know what I'm capable of."_

_He looked suddenly to Jeannie, smiling._

"_And you hit me with that crowbar, little lady, you won't have any ground to stand on. It'll be a clear case of breaking and entering then, a clear case of assault with a deadly weapon. This is _my_ home bitch. _I _called the cops. Even if Jack tells em' it was me who hit him, that's not really a crime, is it? He's a full grown man after all, isn't he? I'll just tell em' we got in to a fight, a coupla' guys having it out. You're the one breakin' the law here, not me. And Jackie here's such a fuckin' mess. You know how bad he is as communicating, don't you? Know he can't really talk too well to people. Even if he tells em' the truth, he won't really be able to make em' understand. He doesn't have the ability to make himself clear, does he? You know it as well as I. They'll just think he's a blubbering mess, traumatized by the pretty girl bustin' in to the apartment, assaulting his Daddy with a crowbar. Either way, even if he tells em, it doesn't matter. It's you who's getting hauled off to jail, and soon as your out, like I said…" he grinned perversely, looking back up at Jack. "I'll rape you, make Jackie here watch, and then I'll fucking _kill_ you."_

_Again he stepped closer, until there was just a single step separating him from them._

"_But awww, Jackie here can _save_ you, can't he? He can prevent all this, if only he'd stay home with me, where he belongs. I'll just tell the cops it was a simple mistake. That I thought someone was in the house, but it turned out to be nothing."_

_Jeannie couldn't believe this. Couldn't believe the way this monster was manipulating Jack, manipulating the situation. She turned back to him, looking up at him._

"_Jack, don't, don't listen to him…"_

_And she saw he had tears streaming down his face now, saw the absolute fear in his eyes, the panic._

"_Jeannie, pl-please he's… he's going to h-hurt you…" he said in a whisper._

"_No Jack, no, he's… he's not. Baby, listen to me, if you don't come with me he's going to hurt _you_. He's going to… Oh God, Jack!"_

_She could see she wasn't getting through to him now, that his fear had taken over._

"_I c-can't go with you Jeannie, he… he'll hurt you. He'll hurt you i-if I do."_

_Jack believed it. He believed it absolutely. His father had come close enough times to killing him for him think he would have no trouble at all hurting Jeannie. And he wouldn't let that happen. No matter what, if it meant he'd have to die to save her, he was going to. He was going to. _

"_Jack, no, I won't leave you. I won't!" Jeannie continued to plead to him, burying her hands in his shirt. _

"_I think I hear those police sirens comin'." His father said. "Yeah, I think I most definitely hear em' now."_

"_Jeannie, please go. Please, y-you have to, you have to…" Jack shook his head, his voice shaking with desperation._

"_I won't!" She again answered back. "He's going to kill you Jack! I won't let him, I'm not leaving you!"_

"_You heard the boy!" His father cut in. "He isn't going with you, so fuck off before you get in to the kind of trouble your _privileged_ upbringing won't help you get out of!"_

_Jack was staring back at her with begging eyes, tears thick within them._

"_Please Jeannie, go… go be-before they come."_

_She only shook her head in response, tears now forming in her own eyes, her hands still curled in his shirt._

_Abruptly his father closed the distance, seeing his opportunity with her back turned, reaching out and grabbing hold of Jack's arm, pushing past them while yanking his son up from behind._

"_NO!" Jeannie cried, reaching out for him, but Jack didn't resist the pull, allowing completely for his father to drag him back up the stairs._

_And when his father had pulled him all the way up to the landing, he turned, staring down at Jeannie._

"_Those cops are comin'." He said. "You can hear em' just a few blocks away now."_

_He was right. Jeannie could hear the sirens, close, and he also was right that, technically, it was only her who'd broken the law. And a scream nearly tore from her throat at the injustice of it all. _

_There was nothing she could do, not unless she wanted to end up in jail, and the bastard was right there too. What good would she be to Jack then? _

"_Please go Jeannie, oh God, please go…" Jack again begged, even as his father pulled him closer to their apartment's front door. _

_Her hand tightened around the crowbar. _

_Christ almighty, if she left him now, what was going to happen to him? What was going to happen?_

_The police were closer now, the sirens sounding near right outside, and panic surged within her._

_She looked back over her shoulder, then back up at Jack._

"_Jack, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" _

_She was going to have to leave. She couldn't stay._

_He only shook his head._

"_It's alright. It's alright, just please, g-go."_

_He felt his father's grip tighten painfully around his arm and he fought not to show it._

_He just wanted her to go, to be safe. He didn't matter. What happened to him didn't matter. As long as she was okay._

_She stepped back._

"_Jack, you can leave him!" She said in one last attempt. "You have the strength! You have the ability! You have to know that, you have to believe it!"_

"_GET OUTTA HERE BITCH!" His father screamed, tightening his grip even more, and now Jack couldn't hide the pain from his face._

_Jeannie's own face twisted in agony._

_Oh God, if only he believed more in himself, if only he could._

"_Please Jack, you can do this. You can."_

_There was no more time. The police were so near now, she had to leave._

"_You can do it Jack." She said one last time, stepping back again._

_He was looking at her with so much longing, so much desperation._

"_Go." He said, his voice just barely above a whisper._

_And she did, nearly blinded by her own tears as she turned and ran down the stairs, out of the building, away… away from him._


	31. Chapter 31

**Hey guys,**

**So, another chapter for you all. I know some of you are growing less then thrilled with the flashbacks, but this chapter consists of a continuation of last chapters flashback, so it's necessary. I hope you aren't too mad. I think it's a pretty good chapter nonetheless, and I hope you enjoy it. After this, for real this time, all flashbacks are finished. So this is the last one, and then we pick back up in the present. **

**Again, huge thanks goes to my beta TheMadCapLaughs for all her incredible help. She basically wrote the last, 4 pages of this chapter. So credit goes to her.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 31:**

_Jack fell hard against the kitchen table, barely catching himself and staying on his feet before his father was again on him, burying a fist in his hair, his other hand yanking him by the collar of his shirt and tearing him back, hurling him across the small space. And this time Jack lost his balance, skidding across the cheap, linoleum floor and crashing in to the wall, coming to a halt, splayed out on his stomach. _

_Collin followed him, coming to stop a few feet short of where he'd landed, glaring down at him, fury in his eyes._

"_You've had it now Jack. You've _really_ had it now, you little bastard!"_

_Jack turned over on to his back, staring up at his father with wide and panicked eyes, his breathing rapid and shallow._

_He didn't have a chance to react before the older man had reached down, taking hold of his shirt and pulling him roughly back to his feet. _

"_C'mere!" His father growled, shoving him backwards, pushing him violently in to the living area. And again Jack stumbled, falling in to the television._

_He began to back away, feeling his way around the set as his father stalked towards him, his legs feeling like rubber beneath him._

"_What is it Jackie-boy…" Collin started as his son backed up against a wall. "You were gonna leave and run off with that fucking whore of yours? You thought you'd get away with that? With going against _me_?"_

_Begging was hopeless, he knew that. His father wouldn't care what he said. He had the look of a rabid dog, beyond any deterrent, but Jack couldn't stand to hear him talk about Jeannie that way anymore, he couldn't stand it. _

"… _D-don't… d-don't c-call her that." He dared, pressing himself flat against the wall._

_Indignation flashed in the older man's eyes._

"_What did you say boy?" He asked, his voice low and mean, stepping closer._

_Jack swallowed painfully, his throat suddenly dry._

"… _D… don't ca… call her that." He repeated, sounding even less confident, his voice nearly inaudible. _

_He was trying to brace himself for what he knew was to come, for the pain, tried to rationalize that he'd been through it before, that he could take it… but it did nothing to stop his pounding heart or the trembling in his limbs._

_He knew he'd screwed up bad now, he knew it. He could tell from his father's face, lined in hatred and disgust._

"_You got lip now Jackie-boy?" Again his father stepped nearer, now within a few feet of Jack. And Jack shrank down, trapped against the wall with no where to run. "Is that what that _slut _of yours has been teaching you? To talk back to your parents? To _disobey _them?" _

"_Sh… she wanted t… to help me…" Jack said. _

"_That bitch doesn't wanna help you Jack!" His father suddenly roared, closing the distance fast and taking him by the shirt. "She's using you, you fucking idiot! How many times I gotta tell you? You ain't nothin' but an amusement to that cunt!" _

_Tears pressed at the back of Jack's eyes, pushing past their corners and escaping down his face._

_His head shook as his father leaned against his chest, making it hard to breathe._

"_N-no, s-stop, she isn't…"_

_He was cut short by a sharp slap, snapping his head to the side._

"_What's with that mouth of yours boy?" Collin seethed. "You been acting like more of a fool tonight then usual. Makes me think I've been going too easy on you, that maybe you need a little sense knocked back in to that head of yours."_

_Jack said nothing, and his father stared at him with narrowed eyes._

"_What did ya think you were gonna do Jack, once you ran off with the bitch? What did ya think was gonna happen? You think you were gonna run off and live happily ever after or some dumb shit like that? Go off to some castle in the sky? Yeah, that's probably what you were thinking, dumb as you are Jack, living in a fucking fantasy world."_

_When still his son said nothing, Collin again slapped him across the mouth, harder this time, and a moment later, there was the familiar taste of copper. _

"_Answer me you sissy bitch!" His father yelled. "What did ya think was gonna happen? With that slut Reinking girl? What did ya think she was gonna do for you Jackie?" _

_Jack's eyes cast down as more tears continued to fall from them, his head flooding with thoughts of how close he'd been, how close he'd been to being with Jeannie, to getting away from… from all this. _

"_WHAT DOES SHE DO FOR YOU JACKIE?" His father screamed, banging him back hard against the wall._

_And the tears came so thick in Jack's eyes now they were blinding._

"… _Sh… she's kind to me…" Jack answered, his voice a whisper._

_For a long moment, his father said nothing, staring at his son with a look of confusion, his brow furrowed._

_And then, suddenly, he began to laugh, the sound growing within seconds to unbridled hysterics._

"_Sh-heehee, she's _kind _to you?" He crowed, just barely managing to get the words out. _

_And Jack again fell silent, his face burning with humiliation and fear._

"_Heeheehee, well awww, now isn't that _sweet_?" His father went on. "Like Quasi fucking Motto and Esmeralda. The freak and his pretty little princess, come to rescue him from the taunting masses, hahahaha!"_

_Jack kept his face turned down, unable to look up, too overcome with embarrassment. _

_But suddenly his father's laughter cut and like lightening he reached a hand up, wrapping it tight round Jack's throat, forcing his head up and back. His thick fingers dug hard, his nails stabbing in to the soft flesh, his teeth bared in a scowl._

"_Cept you forgot one thing bout that story, _Jackie-boy_. Esmeralda turned out to be a real _bitch_. Dropped Quasi Motto like a bad habit and ran off with her Prince charming. And that's what's gonna happen to you with that girl son. See, I happen to think Frolo's the hero of that story. He was just tryin' to protect Quasi, but being the ungrateful little _shit_ that he was…" his grip tightened, threatening Jack's air supply, and Jack choked out, his hands coming up to grip weakly at his father's own. "He betrayed his caretaker, and ended up with nothing in the end! That's you Jack. You're a freak, just like the hunchback in that story."_

_He leaned closer to Jack, his voice dropping lower._

"_I'm just trying to protect you son, protect you from a world which won't ever accept you, a world you could never fit in to. You may not be deformed on the outside Jackie, but you sure as shit are on the inside. And that's _worse_. There's something real _wrong _with you boy. The world's got no place for the likes of you; you wouldn't last one month out there on your own. And that slut, that girl you're so convinced is gonna take care of you? Just you wait and see Jackie-boy. Just you wait. She don't know, she don't know what it's like taking care of you. She hardly sees you anymore, what with you being out of school, and even when you _were_ there, those were the only times she was around you. She doesn't know what it takes, doesn't understand you're a 24/7 kind of case Jackie. That you practically need someone to wipe your ass for you. The second you ran off with her, the second you did and she saw how much God damn _work_ you are, she woulda' dropped you like Esmeralda, like a bad fuckin' habit. And then where would ya have been? Where would you have gone? You'd have been out on the streets, alllll by yourself Jack, alllll alone, stumblin' around like a crazy person, and then… then that's when someone woulda called the men in white coats on you, and they'd haul you off boy, haul you off to a mental hospital. And remember what I told you 'bout orphanages Jack? How bad those places are? Well insane asylums are a whole lot worse son. A _whole _lot worse." He paused, chuckling. "Too bad they closed down old Arkham Asylum, cause that woulda' been just the kind of place for you. But it don't matter, cause there's other hospital's Jack, other asylums. And you know what they do to shrimp faggots like you in places like that Jack? You know what they do?"_

_And now he leaned closer still, until he was right beside Jack's ear, and he said in a whisper…_

"_They rape em' Jack. Rape em' every day, up the ass, over and over 'till they bleed _raw_. Gang rape too. You know what gang rape is Jackie?"_

_He pulled back, taking in his son's horrified expression with satisfaction. _

"_That's when a bunch of guys, sexually frustrated guys, they get together and come at ya, hold you down, pull your pants and underwear down to your ankles…" He grabbed hold of Jack's waistband, giving it a tug. "And then they take turns on you, fuckin' ya in the ass till they come. There isn't any telling what kind of diseases you'd get from a thing like that Jack. That's assuming you live long enough to get a disease. With the kind's a loonies runnin' around those places Jackie-boy, one of em' would get to you eventually. Maybe slit your throat." He ran a finger from Jack's right ear to his left, making a squicking sound. "Maybe _beat_ you to death." He buried a hand in Jack's hair, jerking his head to the side. "Who can say? But you'd get it some way, eventually. Some way ugly."_

_Collin smirked at the look of absolute terror in his son's eyes._

"_So that's where your little escapade with that Reinking girl's gonna lead you Jack. That's where you're headed if you don't stay here with me."_

_Jack could barely breathe now, the result of his father's hand at his throat and his overwhelming anxiety. _

_He wanted so badly to be away from here, to escape this. _

_It couldn't be true what his father said. It _couldn't_ be. Jeannie… Jeannie was so kind, so good. He wished he could be with her now, away from his father, from his hands and his words and his terrible eyes. _

_His lids closed, tears continuing to streak down his face as his body fell limp, whatever strength he had useless against his father's own._

"_Oh God, Jeannie…" he whispered, and he hadn't even realized it._

_His father's face twisted in rage._

"_What are you, retarded Jackie? Didn't I just tell you that whore doesn't care about you? Haven't I been telling you that for years? When have I ever been wrong boy? So much for that genius IQ of yours. You're like the world's biggest idiot, still beggin' for that slut."_

_Jack's head shook, his eyes still closed, tears continuing to push past the lids._

"_No, she's not, she… d-don't call her that." _

_Collin's anger grew._

"_Still not gettin' it Jackie-boy." He said, increasing the pressure on is son's throat, and now he was choking Jack, causing him to start sputtering, his eyes opening in a panic as he groped desperately at his father's hands. "So I guess I'm just gonna have to show you. You aren't supposed to talk back at your elders son. You're supposed to _respect_ em'. But it's pretty clear to me, after that little stunt you pulled tonight, that you might've forgotten _how_. So allow me to _remind_ you."_

_Abruptly he pulled his son from the wall, and in one, swift motion, kicked Jack's legs out from under him, lifting him from the floor as he did and slamming him down, on to his back._

_Instantly the air was knocked from him, forcing a sharp gasp past his lips, his eyes going wide._

_Collin sneered down at him, hovering above his face as he continued to hold him by the hair, his other hand buried in Jack's shirt._

"_Ya ever hear those stories Jack, from people who flat lined on the operating table, from people who actually died for a few minutes before the doc's were able to bring em' back?" He spoke softly. "They talk about seeing a white light, hearing a distant voice, callin' to em. All that. Personally, I don't believe a word of it. See, what I think, when you _die_…" he took vicious hold of Jack's face, squeezing down tight on either side of his cheeks. "what I think happens is you just… disappear. Everything goes black and you're gone. You don't… _exist_ anymore." His other hand buried deeper in Jack's hair, tearing at it meanly. "What do you think Jackie? You think there's a heaven? Or do you think you just cease to exist?"_

_Fresh tears streamed from Jack's eyes, and his voice was lost to him, caught in his throat as he grew consumed with fear, his heart pounding._

_The look in his father's eyes… Pure hatred, pure cruelty, but Jack couldn't name what he was seeing, knew only that it terrified him, made him feel utterly helpless and alone._

"_Maybe we should put it to a test, huh Jack? What do you say? You wanna find out? Wanna see what happens when you die? Then you can tell me. Don't worry, I'll bring you back from it. Promise. Course, I gotta admit, my skills in CPR might be kinda rusty, and the risks are high. But shit Jackie, you're a _man _of science, aren't ya? And any man of science worth his salt's willing to take the necessary risks when it comes to discovery and all that, right?"_

_He was going to die, oh God, he was sure of it this time. He'd gone too far, angered his father too much and now he was going to pay for it with his life. _

_He thought of Jeannie, thought of what his father had said, and suddenly he felt nauseous, the room seeming to spin in a rush of circles around him, a horrible sensation like falling dropping down through his stomach. _

_Oh Christ, if he died tonight, he couldn't protect her, he wouldn't be there to protect her, to keep his father away from her._

_A sob tore from his throat, broken with the air gone from his lungs as he thought, even if he were to survive tonight, there still wasn't any way he could protect her, his father being so much more then him, so much stronger, so much more powerful._

_He hated himself, hated how useless he was, how weak. _

_He hated that he couldn't leave, didn't have the strength, the ability, couldn't beat his father, couldn't make it without him…_

_But the thought… the thought of his father going after her, of his hurting her, and her being alone without him, it was unbearable, and again another sob tore from his throat. _

"_Aww, Don't _cry _Jackie-boy, don't be _scared_…" his father cooed, his tone mocking, patting his son along the cheek. "It'll be okay. I mean, dyin' ain't so bad, not to someone like you. I'd think it'd almost be a relief, considering how miserable it must be, bein' you."_

_As quickly as the insincere empathy had entered his voice, it then vanished, his face twisting in obvious fury as suddenly he stood, one hand still fisted in Jack's hair, holding tight, and he turned, pulling Jack up and on to his knees and then further, causing him to fall forward on to his hands before heading towards the kitchen, dragging his son behind him._

_Jack cried out, one hand coming up, trying to relieve the tearing pressure along his scalp, his other searching desperately for purchase along the floor, trying to keep himself upright. But it was useless as his father walked quickly, not at all loosening his grip, causing Jack's knees to drag painfully along the wood floor and the skin of his palm to rip open, leaving it bare and raw and stinging._

_Within seconds, they were in the kitchen again, Collin dragging Jack towards the refrigerator, where he then hauled him forward in a single, violent motion, throwing him against a string of cabinets beneath the counter. Jack crashed hard against it, landing on his side as his father tore open the fridge door. _

"_What I need's a drink." He said, reaching in, grabbing hold a bottle of beer, popping the cap off against the counter's edge and chugging half the bottle in a single swig. _

_He glared down at his son, who'd curled in on himself, arms wrapped round his shoulders, pressed up against the cabinets, his face turned away. Collin's lip curled in disgust, wiping the back of his forearm against his mouth._

"_Say, you're 21 now, ain't you boy?" He asked. "That means you can drink now, don't it? You ain't ever had a drink before, have ya Jack?" _

_Jack said nothing, too terrified to speak, knowing whatever he said would do him no good._

_Again his father's anger flared, and in a rage he threw the bottle in his hand down, hard against the floor, the glass shattering instantly._

_Jack flinched visibly at the noise._

"_I asked you a question!" He spit, reaching down and grabbing his son by the collar of his shirt, yanking him up, backhanding him across the face. _

_Blood began quickly to trickle from Jack's nose, his hand lifting inadvertently to try and stop the flow. But his father stopped him, taking hold of his wrist, twisting his arm around and up his back. And Jack whimpered out with the pain._

"_Fuckin' pansy. You ain't never had a drink in your life, have you? Fuckin' pathetic. By the time I was 21 I was a seasoned pro. See, you gotta catch up. So none of this watered down shit. None of this cheap ass beer. What you need is a taste of somethin' hot, somethin' to burn your throat."_

_He turned from his son, to one of the cabinets above the counter, pulling it open with his free hand, reaching in and taking hold of a bottle of Jack Daniels. _

"_This here's the shit you need Jackie-boy. Somethin' to put a little fire in those faggot veins of yours. Maybe if we're lucky it'll burn the sissy outta you."_

_He threw Jack down again, untwisting the bottle's cap before following his son to the floor, leaning on to him, pinning him to the floor with a knee to his thin chest, pressing down painfully. _

_Jack sputtered, gasping at the sharp pressure, the weight of his father pushing down on him. It felt like his bones would break, his ribs, and his father reached forward suddenly, wrapping fingers around Jack's jaw, digging his uncut nails in to the flesh of his face, hard enough to draw blood. And again Jack whimpered, trying in vain to turn his head, to free himself from the demon like grip of the man above him, his arms flailing uselessly at his sides._

"_Now open up, big and wide Jackie. I want you to get a good, solid taste of this."_

_His fingers dug harder in to Jack's jowls, and Jack cried out, new tears springing to his eyes, streaking down his temples and in to his hair. _

_Collin positioned the bottle of Jack Daniel's above his son's face._

"_Nice and wide for me Jackie. Just think of it like suckin' a dick. You're real good at that, I'm sure." He laughed, and without further warning, he slammed the liquors nozzle down, against his son's lips, forcing it past._

_The sickening liquid poured out, half seeming to miss his mouth, falling over his face, the rest escaping down his throat. _

_It was like fire, like a thousand tiny blades, ripping at his esophagus, the taste of acid, and he began to chock, his throat closing up, and suddenly he couldn't breathe, desperate gasps pushing past his lips._

"_Come on Jackie, swallow for me!" His father screamed in his face, still holding him tight by the jaw, keeping him from turning away. "Swallow it down, show me you ain't a complete _fag_!"_

_Jack's lids had squeezed shut, the burning sensation rising to his eyes._

"_Pa-plea…" He gurgled out, his hands coming up, blindly reaching for the bottle, trying to knock it away in a panic. He couldn't breathe, couldn't get any air to his lungs with this poison coursing down his throat and his father's knee pressing in to his chest._

_Was this what it felt like to die? Was it like this? All pain and hysteria and confusion, grasping desperately for some kind of escape? _

_Rational thought left him as fear took over, and he thrashed violently, no attention paid to what consequence his action might bring, and somehow in a surge of terror, he knocked the bottle of liquor from his father's hand, and it went flying, crashing to the floor, the liquid pouring rapidly out._

_Collin stared at the fast emptying bottle a moment, watching it spread out across the linoleum, fury growing inside him. _

_He raged._

"_You filthy bag of SHIT!" He screamed, turning back to his son. "You know how much that cost me? YOU KNOW HOW MUCH?" _

_Both his hands came up, burying in Jack's hair, tearing him violently up from the floor. And Jack cried out as pain flared through his scalp._

"_YOU KNOW HOW MUCH?" Again his father bellowed, pulling him close._

"_I-I'm s-sorry! I'm s-sorry!" Jack pleaded instinctively, automatically, knowing even in the back of his mind it would do no good._

_His father's teeth bared in a snarl, eyes alight with anger. _

"_You UNGRATEFUL PIECE OF TRASH! You don't know how fucking SORRY you'll BE! For EVERYTHING! Everything you FAGGOT!"_

_He stood, lifting Jack up almost bodily, pulling him towards the kitchen table, dragging him with ease. His hand buried deeper in his son's hair, his other moving to the collar of his shirt as he yanked Jack's head backwards, and with a growl, he drove Jack's face down, in to the tables edge._

_Pain exploded inside Jack's skull, radiating through the structure of his face as his nose shattered, blood erupting in a thick gush from his nostrils, and the room spun, dizzyingly fast, his ears filling quickly with a loud buzzing noise._

_Again he was lifted up, again his head jerked back before being slammed back down, in to the tables edge, the bridge of his nose this time hitting, a wide gash opening up across it, and his entire body went limp, spots of black and explosions of white dancing before his eyes. He couldn't see, oh God, he couldn't hear anything, white noise invading his brain. _

_He could taste blood, thick in his mouth, against his tongue, sliding down his throat, and again nausea returned._

_He was going to die. Christ almighty he was going to die. Here, tonight. His father was going to kill him._

_The blows had completely dazed him, and he wasn't even aware then as he was dragged back from the table, swung around and pushed, first to his knees, and then down further, to his stomach, his father cupping the back of his head in a giant hand, forcing his face down, on to the floor, on to the broken glass of the beer bottle. _

_Jagged slivers dug in to Jack's skin as his face was pressed down from behind, ground in to the glass, tearing the flesh apart, and he screamed, broken and loud and wet, tears filling his eyes as they closed tight, pushing past the lids and on to the floor._

"_You fucking maggot piece of shit!" His father hissed against his ear, grabbing hold of Jack's arm and twisting it viciously behind his back, threatening to snap the bone, digging a knee in between the blades of his back. "Think you can disobey me? Think you can run off with that slut _whore_? You're so stupid Jack. You're so fucking _stupid_!" _

_He pressed his son's face harder in to the glass and again Jack screamed._

"_She'll drop you boy. Drop you cause nobody wants anything to do with a _freak_ like you, a _nothing_ like you. You bring shit in to people lives Jack, nothing but SHIT!" He twisted his arm harder, and Jack whimpered loudly, chocking out. _

"_GHAAH!"_

"_You're too dumb to understand Jackie. Too fuckin' _dumb_. You need to be shown what'll happen, what'll happen if you run away and the bitch throws you out with the _trash_!"_

_Another twist of the arm, and then suddenly his father let it go, and Jack felt his hand pushing under his stomach, and then at the waistband of his pants, groping at the button._

_No, oh God NO!_

"_Here's what's gonna happen to you Jackie-boy, when they put you in the insane asylum." His father spoke above him, pulling the button open and fumbling now with the zipper. "Only it'll be ten guys there, all at once, takin' their turns, takin' their sweet time."_

_Jack struggled, his heart beating thunderously in his chest, his head screaming for this to stop, for it not to be real. Please God NO, don't let this happen!_

"_Same thing I'm gonna do to that sweet piece of pussy you got, that sweet little whore of yours."_

_Again Jack struggled. He felt so weak, his limbs feeling like they weighed a thousand tons as he tried desperately, hopelessly to buck his father off him, to break free._

"_Just relax, baby boy…" Collin continued, at last getting the zipper of Jack's pants pulled down. "You'll probably enjoy this, considering how much of a cock sucker you are."_

_Suddenly his father's hand was gone, and Jack could hear him working at undoing his own pants._

_And Jack couldn't even feel the pain in his face anymore, couldn't feel his father's knee in his back as panic consumed him, unmitigated horror._

_This couldn't happen. He couldn't… couldn't let this happen. Oh God, please, don't… give me the strength, give me the strength… _

_His father bent back over, his hot breath against Jack's ear, and he chuckled._

"_Get ready to scream for me boy." He whispered, and then his tongue came out, sliding wet over the rim of Jack's ear._

_And Jack sobbed._

"_Leave me alone… Oh please, leave me…"_

_His father laughed._

"_No can do Jackie-boy. Just remember, you brought this shit on yourself. And maybe you can think about it later, when you're bleedin' outta your ass and you can't walk, how you fucked up, how you won't ever fuck up again or else."_

_Hysterical sobs tore from Jack's throat as he again felt his father's hand at his waistband, tugging at it._

_No, no… not this, please not this…_

Please_…_

_He lost it. _

_Thrashing violently, with everything, every ounce of strength in his being, he fought; tore and pulled and pushed and clawed._

_He had to get away. He HAD to. This couldn't be, this couldn't happen._

_Jeannie's words echoed in his mind, her voice telling him he had the strength, that he could do this, could get away, escape… escape… escape away from this hell._

_He pushed, struggled, twisted with mad purpose, his mind gone, the only notion within it the singular notion of needing to be free. And Jeannie telling him he could._

_He cried out wildly, his hips lifting, his hands pressing flat against the floor, pushing himself up, somehow lifting his father's 250 lb. frame up with him. It shouldn't have been possible, the man outweighing him by 60 lbs, him being infinitely thicker, infinitely stronger, but somehow he did it, and in a crazed panic, feeling the weight on his back lessen as his father fell away, his hand flew behind blindly, striking his father's face. And it knocked Collin all the way off balance now, and he fell fully off his son, sprawled out on his back._

_Like a rocket, Jack scrambled forward, on his knees a few feet before pushing himself to his feet._

_He stumbled towards the door. _

_His legs felt so weak, like any moment they would give way beneath him, and he heard his father curse._

"_You fucking shit!"_

_It had taken Collin only a moment to get over his momentary confusion at being thrown by his son, and now he was getting to his own feet. _

_Jack continued towards the door._

_The lock… normally the lock was always in place, only part of what kept Jack from ever trying to run. His father was fast, explosive. With any hesitation, any point of stoppage, he would be on Jack within seconds._

_And once his father had his hands on him, there would be no getting away. _

_But the lock… Jeannie had busted the whole thing off when she'd come in to the apartment, and his father hadn't bothered with putting it back together, simply slamming the door shut before throwing Jack across the room._

_He had only to open it then, not turn the lock, or unlatch the chain, only reach out and pull it open._

"_JACK, YOU STOP RIGHT THERE BOY!" His father roared, seeing him go for the door, seeing his intention. "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"_

_But Jack wasn't stopping. He wasn't stopping now. He couldn't, he knew he couldn't, not if he wanted to make it through this night. _

_It was too late, too late to turn back, to change his mind._

_Too late for second thoughts._

_His fingers dove in to the hole left by the missing knob, curling around its edge, and he pulled, the door easily flying open._

"_JACK!" His father again screamed, by now having fully righted himself, and Jack could hear him behind, hear his heavy feet hitting the floorboards as he lunged after him._

_But Jack was already out the door, already hurling himself down the stairwell, his heart thundering in his chest._

_No going back, no stopping, not if he wanted to make it through this night._

_/_

_He stumbled down two flights of stairs then sped across the hallway, almost tripping over his own feet. He flung open the door and was greeted by a warm blast of night-time air, his father's remonstrative bellowing echoing in his ears. He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. There would be no more stopping. He'd let Jeannie down enough times. He pressed on, pushing through the pain, the blood drying on his face, driven by the fear that his father might ambush him somehow. All he knew was that he needed to reach the Aparo, the bridge connecting the Narrows to the main island of Gotham. The pronged, red-lit tips of the bridge's nearest tower loomed over the rooftops, but even so, Jack calculated it would take a good fifteen minutes – possibly a little longer – to get there._

_He ran past a row of shabby apartment buildings and boarded-up shops. The sight made him think of a mouth filled with rotting teeth. The whole place was dead. Nobody was out and about. He passed the wreckage of a children's play area; a grim concrete square bordered by overgrown grass. A rusted climbing frame; a swing set with no swings attached; a toppled seesaw. Beyond the park stretched an expanse of scrubland; beyond that, an expanse of wall, crowned by rotted barbed wire. _

_Soon, he was running past the twisted wrought-iron gates of the abandoned Arkham Asylum. The building itself languished in silent retreat, concealed by a blanket of night, yet watchful. He questioned the wisdom of placing a children's park so close to a place that had housed the city's myriad lunatics, but the Asylum was closed back in 1964 amid accusations of patient abuse, and he didn't think the park was that old. That was how things were the Narrows. If the authorities built something good, like this park had once been, then someone, somewhere, would wreck it. _

_After running for another five minutes he rounded a corner, and finally, mercifully, found himself at the mouth of the Aparo Bridge. That was when it dawned on him that he could no longer hear his father. Evidently the brute had given up the pursuit. Or maybe the bellowing, the footsteps, had all been in his head. Either way, it didn't matter now. All he had was the clothes he stood up in. He hadn't had time to grab anything else. Not that he actually owned much else. Just some clothes, a few chemistry textbooks, a small clutch of magazines. He didn't have a suitcase to put them in anyway. _

_He slowed, stopped, then bent over, trying to catch his breath. He put his hands to his face. As he peeled them away, flecks of dried blood came off. He straightened as much as he could then limped towards the archway under the first tower, squinting in the light cast by the car headlights and the city itself._

_Halfway across the bridge he paused, leaning against the railing, glancing briefly down at the black rippling water of the Gotham River. A pair of seagulls circled and cried out above his head. Far out to sea a distant ship tarried on the waves, stark blue-white against saturated black, caught in the revolving spotlight from a lighthouse on the shore. _

_A rush of air filled Jack's lungs as he beheld the sprawling skyline, clad in the confident and glittering attire of night. The adrenaline rush from his flight, coupled with the relief at finally being free, gave the sight – one he'd seen many times before – an added dimension of catharsis that almost brought him to tears. He picked out the towers; the swirling neon-red sign of the Kane building; the glass-fronted Gotham National Bank, awash in florescent blue; the white-hot W crowning the Wayne Tower, the tallest building of all. _

_His fear of his father melted away to be replaced by another kind of fear, indistinguishable from awe. Gotham City was by far the largest city in America, and one of the biggest in the world. Seeing it like this was overwhelming in itself, yet the feeling was tempered, somehow, by an undercurrent of safety. However large his father had loomed in his life, he was _nothing_ compared to this. He shrank in the face of this. _

_A snatched echo of music floated past his head. He heard car horns, distant loudspeakers, the voices of millions out there in the city right now, living it up; living life. He'd caught glimpses of it in Robinson Park, amidst the fireflies and the fairy lights and the clusters of young people drinking wine, smoking joints and making out, and in the Midtown section, the business district, where people walked crisply and purposely, their heads held high, briefcases swinging from their hands. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew that wherever it was, there would be warmth._

_/_

_Jack pressed himself against a wall. Central Square was too fast. The people looked like blurs. Everything was saturated in gold light and excessive noise. An enormous screen pumped out 24-hour music videos and advertisements for Pepsi-Cola and Nike. A rock star leaned into the camera and screamed. This was followed by an advert for jeans, shot in black and white. The camera panned up the model's body, lingering over her ass and pouty glossed mouth. A Japanese car spun around on a platform while a man in white lab coat pointed to a diagram next to it. A soft-focus, idealised family sat around a table, smiling at each other, unwrapping fast food. The father patted the son on the shoulder as he took a welcoming bite. A woman emerged from a garden of lilies, wearing a billowing cloak of royal purple silk. She lifted a chalice to her lips and smirked._

_/_

_Everyone was talking, jabbering, gobbling. A dull-looking fellow waited patiently while his girlfriend finished her hamburger. A newspaper vendor chanted "_Eeeeevening Gazette!_" over and over. Groups of people staggered rowdily from tacky bars. Cabs piled up against the kerb, honking. One woman tripped over her six-inch heels and went sprawling, the contents of her bag flying out. She laughed and heaved herself up. Jack felt like he was being swallowed. Maybe he was already in the belly of the beast. He put his hands over his ears and sank to the ground. Nobody noticed. _

_/_

_He put his hand into his pocket and was surprised to find some change. It was all he had, but there was just enough for the subway. Jeannie lived approximately twenty-five minutes away on foot, and he didn't know how much longer he could stand this cacophony. Her apartment was on Englehart Street, a short walk away from the main the university campus in an older section of town. It was two minutes away by subway train. Jack rose to his feet. He could do this. He made his way towards the subway sign on the corner, and fled down the steps without looking back. _

_It was cooler and quieter down in the subway, as though a vacuum pipe had come and sucked away all of the noise and oppressive heat. Jack went into the men's bathroom. It was dour and sickly-looking, with high ceilings and tiled walls the color of a manila envelope. An elderly, sallow-looking attendant sat by himself at a small wooden table, smoking a cigarette and reading a paper. He pointed the way to the urinals. Jack nodded and mumbled a thank-you. _

_When he had finished, he went to wash his hands at the sink. He stared at his reflection in the cracked, stained, greenish-gold glass of the mirror, noting the blood that had dried on his face and dripped onto his shirt. There was livid bruising surrounding his eyes, swelling his cheek, and smaller cuts, all over his face from his father having crushed it against the broken glass of his beer bottle. Blood still dripped steadily from his nose, and he was sure it was broken. He needed to clean himself up, that much was true. There was a soap dispenser above the sink, and Jack was surprised to discover that it still contained soap. That wasn't usually the case in public bathrooms. The water, as expected, was cold. _

_Jack washed his face, straightened up, and looked at his reflection again, jumping a little when he realised the attendant was staring at him, his eyes like dark brown pebbles, a knowing half-smile on his face. He looked like he'd been sitting there a thousand years or more; like he'd melted into his surroundings, become one with them. The attendant shrugged and extinguished his cigarette in an empty tinfoil pie tray, scattered with butts. _

_/_

_The subway ride was uneventful. Soon Jack found himself on the outskirts of the Victorian Quarter, in Dixon Square. It was a quiet, outwardly residential-looking area, antiquated and charming, illuminated by electric lanterns atop ersatz Victorian lamp posts. The air seemed softer here, perfumed and stirred. This was one of the oldest parts of Gotham, and also one of the hippest. Four-storey terraced houses bordered an overgrown, weedy garden enclosed by black railings. Many of these houses had been converted into expensive apartments; a few hosted private clubs in their basements. The glow from the bottom right-hand corner suggested that one of these clubs was open tonight. _

_Not really knowing why, Jack made his way over. He leaned against the darkest part of the wall, trying to keep out of sight as best he could. A sleek, fancy car purred into view, and a couple got out, gleaming with privilege. The woman had a waist-length hairpiece and deep plum lipstick; the man's tie was loose. A doorman came over and ushered them inside. There was a muted thud as their chauffeur closed the car doors. Then he got into the driver's seat, and drove away. _

_Across the road, a group of girls clustered before the railings, chatting and looking lost. Jack could tell from looking at these girls that they didn't fit whatever event was taking place inside. The event, he managed to glean, was a private party following a fashion show, and these girls happened to be fans of an actor who'd modelled there. One of them, plump and elaborately garbed in a prom-style gown of wine-coloured velvet, complained loudly about her "friend" who'd somehow managed to wangle an invitation inside without telling her. Hours later, this friend would return to the hotel room they shared and lie about not sleeping with her plump chum's actor crush. Jack knew this. He knew it just as if someone had yelled the information into his face. It wasn't clairvoyance, or telepathy or whatever. Some people just didn't fit, he thought, and others could see it. But at least the girl was trying. _

_The group began to break up. Most went to find a restaurant, or a cab. The girl in velvet crossed the road, still not giving up hope. She spied Jack in the shadows. "You got a spare ticket?" she asked hopefully._

"_N ... no," Jack replied, and backed away._

"_You're cute," the girl shouted after him as he retreated._

_He didn't reply, pressing on. Englehart Street was just a couple of blocks away, where Jeannie and safety awaited. _


	32. Chapter 32

**New chapter guys! Again, huge thanks to my beta, TheMadCapLaughs, as always. Please remember to leave a review if you can. It's always highly appreciated, and thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter 32:**

Batman sighed.

_In a way,_ he thought, _it really isn't a wonder the Joker came to be_. What reaction could _anyone_ have to a life so desolate and deprived, save to cease caring for anyone or anything? Batman wondered absently if they weren't doing something wrong in forcing the Joker to remember his past. The Joker had been Jack's coping mechanism; his sole means of negotiating an apparently chaotic and meaningless existence. If the Joker disappeared - and as these lapses of his became longer, deeper and more frequent, it was obvious that this was exactly what was happening - if that refuge was destroyed, the ramifications for Jack were unknown. And unknown variables, Batman found, made him very uncomfortable.

But they also offered a challenge. And he didn't shrink from a good challenge.

"Well, that was wrong Jack," he explained kindly. "It was wrong for your father to come in on you in the bathroom like that. It's an invasion of your privacy. The only time when you're in the bathroom and its okay for someone else to come in there _with_ you is if you _invite_ them in."

For a long moment, Jack stared at him, and Batman could see his mind thinking, working over what he'd just said.

He licked his lips then, his brows rising in an expression of realization.

"Jeannie invites me in to the bathroom all the time!" he announced, his eyes lighting up.

Batman coughed, slightly taken aback. It was more information than he needed to know, yet he couldn't ignore the lack of agenda in Jack's voice. He'd said it innocently; without understanding why speaking of such things might make others uncomfortable. It was his way of acknowledging that he'd understood what Batman meant, and nothing more.

But just as quickly as the enthusiasm had come to Jack, it seemed to drain away, and he looked at the floor once more.

"Or at least she used to …" he said, his voice soft with sadness.

Seeing the sudden despondence on Jack's face brought Bruce back to the moment. Jack clearly feared those times were over; that he would never again experience those intimate moments with his wife, and Bruce didn't have it in his heart then to tell him he wasn't at all sure either. If they couldn't cure the Joker - if they couldn't cure _Jack -_ then any reformation of his and Jeannie's relationship would be impossible.

Removing the Joker, it occurred to Batman, was only half the battle, since Jack himself required considerable long-term care. He desperately needed help to develop social skills, coping strategies, if he was ever going to function effectively in the real world. Jeannie had protected him, shielded him, and loved him without question, but in some ways she'd shielded him a little too much. She'd meant well – she'd done it out of love and the desire to prevent him from getting hurt – but she wasn't a psychologist or expert in the treatment of autism, and it was unfair to expect her to provide the kind of specialist attention her husband required. If Jack was ever going to be released from prison – and that was a huge _if_ – he would need to be able to interact adequately with relative strangers if he wanted to find a job befitting his considerable talents.

And that was the _best_ case scenario. Most likely, Batman thought, he'd be moved to Blackgate on receiving a clean bill of health, as the chances of him ever being released were slim in the extreme. His crimes as the Joker were too numerous, too notorious. And he would need to learn to cope with life at Blackgate, too, without recourse to his Joker persona. Until a way of convincing the parole board that Jack and the Joker were two different people presented itself, the prognosis looked bleak.

_But not impossible_, thought Batman. _Nothing is impossible._ _Not in a world where a person can fly, or run faster than_ _the speed of light, or extend their life by hundreds of years. _

"Listen…" he started. "Why don't you just go take that shower? I'll get you a fresh set of clothes and leave them outside the door for you. Everything you'll need is already in there, towels, washcloths, soap…"

Jack looked up at him.

"You… you promise you won't come in?" he asked, timidly.

And Bruce nodded.

"I promise," he said.

"O-okay then."

Batman took him gently by the elbow.

"Come on," he said, leading Jack towards the shower.

/

Batman closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Jack alone in the bathroom. Jack waited for the vigilante to leave before going to the door and locking it, and only when he felt sure Batman had stepped well away did he turn and survey his surroundings.

The bathroom was small, but sporting all the necessary amenities. A toilet, vanity, sink and shower. The fittings were a utilitarian white, plain and clean.

Jack glanced back over his shoulder at the door before deciding it was safe to move forward towards the vanity.

That was when he saw his own reflection in full for the first time. And he scarcely could believe what he saw.

Tentatively, he reached out, the tips of his fingers resting against the glass, moving slowly over his own image.

The face that stared back barely seemed like his. Chalk-white and … older, more defined, the hollows of his eyes and cheeks appearing deeper. He had crow's feet. His hair was longer then it had ever been in his life, sweeping just past his ears, falling over on to his forehead, and the color… had… had someone done this to him while he slept? Had someone dyed it? It was a deep forest green, the strands limp and greasy.

Slowly his fingers moved over the reflection to his mouth. He felt his heart seize in his chest as he took in the scar tissue, running up from the corners of his lips. His hand came away from the glass, moving to his face. He ran his fingers over the deformed and gnarled flesh, still swollen and painful looking even though it had healed over.

His fingers brushed over his forehead, feeling the angry snarl of scar tissue between his eyes, just above his brow ridge. And all over the rest of his visage other scars were visible, less prominent but obvious enough, under his eyes and along his cheeks and chin. They resembled glass and shrapnel cuts.

He grabbed hold of the hem of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. His eyes sprang wide as they registered the state of his naked torso; the same, uniform white of his face and hands, not an inch of him colored as normal flesh would be. More scarring, from his chest to his stomach; patches of deformed tissue where the skin had been burned away from bullets or explosions. Other scars were longer, like blades had sliced his skin open. One resembled a pinkish, zig-zagging line, running from below the waistline of his pants up his left hand side, all the way up to his armpit. Clusters of scars pitted his abdomen and chest area; most likely caused by shrapnel, exploding glass and metal.

The insides of his arms were scored up and down with track marks, as if someone had jammed him repeatedly with a needle. He didn't understand it.

He'd never taken drugs in his life.

His hands moved to the waistband of his pants and undergarments, pushing them to his ankles. The same blank whiteness prevailed, littered and marred by scarring and burn marks and track marks from needles.

Jack felt like the air had been ripped from his lungs, and he began to tremble.

Was someone playing a trick on him?

He turned, examining his right side, and the reality of it all hit him as his eyes rested on a scar long faded but still so fresh in his mind.

It was an ugly, erratic looking formation of scar tissue, a couple of centimeters wide. He'd got it when his father slammed an empty beer bottle into his side. In a drunken rage, his father had dug the broken bottle in to him, burying the jagged edges in to his flesh.

Jack had been eleven years old at the time, and he recalled it so clearly because he'd almost died. His father had left him there on the floor, bleeding profusely for ten minutes before realizing he needed to take him to the hospital.

Jack remembered the nurses and doctors asking him what had happened. Specifically, they'd wanted to know whether his father had done this to him. And Jack had shaken his head and said no, too afraid to tell them the truth, not even really knowing how.

His father had drummed it into him that he needed him, claiming that if Jack was taken away, he'd be placed in an orphanage. And orphanages, according to his father, were bad places – filled with child molesters and hard, nasty kids who'd waste no time at all in targeting Jack, purely and simply because he was _weak._ _You'd be lucky to last a day in a place like that,_ his father crowed. Only it wasn't true at all. All orphanages and children's homes in Gotham were funded, staffed and monitored by the Martha Wayne Foundation, which had an exemplary record in child protection and care. But Jack hadn't known that at the time.

It wasn't until later … until Jeannie, when he'd moved in with her, that he understood he could make it without his father. She'd explained to him that his father had lied about lots of things. As long as he had Jeannie, he thought, he would be okay.

But this… he didn't know what had happened, what he was looking at anymore. And Jeannie… Oh God, Jeannie. What if she… what if she…

He shook his head, trying to get the terrible thoughts from his mind.

She _couldn't_ die. She just _couldn't_. He would be lost. She deserved to live… she deserved her life. And if she lost it because of him… because she'd come to see him…

His eyes closed, tears stinging sharply and pushing easily past his lids, sliding down his face.

Suddenly there was a soft rapping against the door.

"Jack?" Batman asked. He'd returned with a fresh set of clothes, as promised, ready to leave them outside the door. But when he heard no water running from within, he grew somewhat concerned. He knocked a second time.

"Jack?" he repeated. "Is everything alright in there?"

With shaking hands, Jack reached out, turning the faucet of the sink, water rushing out.

"I… I'm a-alright."

And Batman's brow furrowed.

He was at the sink? Then that meant… Oh Jesus. He hadn't even _thought_ of it. No doubt, it was the first time Jack had gotten a proper look at his reflection. He should have removed that damned mirror before allowing him in there. He couldn't even imagine what Jack must be thinking right now.

"Jack?"

"I… I-I'm alright." Jack's voice was shaking more noticeably now, and Bruce could tell he was crying.

He cursed himself for his oversight. How could he be making so many damned mistakes?

"Do you… do you need help?" he asked, cautiously.

Several seconds of silence passed before Jack croaked out a "no", barely audible above the running water.

Bruce really didn't know what to do beyond that. He couldn't just parade in there and bring him out, not after promising Jack that he wouldn't interfere, and if this guy needed anything at all, it was to trust somebody. Someone who wouldn't go back on their word.

"Okay," he said, conceding. "If you need anything, just ask."

Jack splashed some cold water on his face, hoping the shock would give him some kind of clarity. He didn't know what was going on, and nobody seemed willing to tell him.

Maybe they didn't know either.

Maybe he'd always been like this; too sick to realize his own delusions.

But no… what he did know, what he did was that Jeannie needed him. She needed him right now, and he wasn't going to fail her… not again, not this time.

With that resolve in mind, Jack stepped from the rest of his clothes, moving to the shower, turning the water on and stepping beneath the spray. He picked up a bottle of shower gel, unscrewed the cap, and tentatively sniffed. Cedar and bergamot. No toxins, as far as he could tell. The brand looked expensive, and he wondered whether he should use it. _Maybe I should just use the hand soap_, he thought, his gaze shifting back and forth between the shower gel and the soap dispenser over the sink. Still, he didn't remember Batman telling him _not_ to touch his stuff, so it was probably okay. He squirted a palm full of shower gel onto a sponge and began to soap himself.

It didn't matter what was going on with him, he thought. It didn't matter compared to her.

/

Batman had left him a set of clothes as promised, sweatpants and a T-shirt, along with a fresh pair of briefs and socks, all of which had been too big for him save for the length, the shirt hanging off his thin frame like a sheet. The pants had a draw string, preventing them from tumbling around his ankles.

Once he'd had them on and again opened the bathroom door, he spotted the vigilante, seated across the space before the row of computer monitors, his back turned.

Slowly, Jack approached him.

When Batman spoke, it slightly startled him, and he flinched. He hadn't been sure if the crusader knew he was there even.

"You okay?" He turned in his chair, looking at the slight man.

Jack nodded.

"You ready to get suited up?"

Another nod.

"Okay then." Batman stood, walking past Jack, who kept his eyes on the ground as he followed him, putting a good five feet's worth of distance between them.

Jack was led down a flight of steps to a small cavern. An elaborate and varied display of suits hung on racks, some armored, others not. They included wet suits, flight suits, camouflage suits, plus an array of other outfits. Some looked like regular clothes; leather jackets and jeans, seedy, down-at-heel suits, even a bum's outfit. Others were proper theatrical costumes: Zorro, a knight, a clown.

_He must go to a lot of fancy dress parties, _Jack thought.

At the back was a row of glass cases, containing a range of prosthetics, fake beards, mustaches and glasses. A series of stands held wigs in numerous colors, lengths and styles. By the display sat a large desk littered in papers, handwritten notes and newspaper articles, not a single inch of the surface visible.

Bruce glanced at Jack as the thin man touched the clown disguise, and paused. He'd infiltrated the Joker's gang once by wearing this outfit. The Joker had seen through the ruse; he usually did. Still, the mission was a success, and the clown had been duly shipped off to Blackgate along with his lackeys. This was before the Joker's insanity reached a fever pitch; when he was still being sent to state prison rather than Arkham. For a second Batman was concerned Jack might recognize the costume, triggering a return of the Joker persona, but he barely glanced at it before moving on, taking everything in, looking upon it all as a child might gaze through the front glass of a candy store, wide eyed and in awe.

"What do you use these costumes for?" he asked.

"Different things," Batman answered, quickly spotting the costume he was looking for. He reached out, removing it from the stand. "Different missions, many of which require a unique approach." He smiled wryly, turning towards Jack. "Here."

Jack's eyes fell upon the suit. It was black and sported what appeared to be highly advanced technology, though Jack had no idea what any of it did. Nervously, Jack took the outfit and brought it closer to his face, looking at the material.

"That's what you'll be wearing. It comes with a mask." Batman pulled the head piece from another rack. "So no one will be able to identify you."

"What is it made of?" Jack asked, running his fingers along the rubbery material.

"Kevlar plating over tri-weave fibers," came the response. "It's designed to absorb intense impacts, like a gun shot or knife attack. Does well in explosions, too."

"I've never… never seen anything like this…" Jack mused, his voice distant, almost like he was speaking more to himself. "This kind of technology…"

Batman felt himself tense. Of course, in the fifteen years that had passed, advancements in technology had been almost exponential. Back then, the Batcave had consisted of a single, smallish cavern, featuring just enough room for a computer terminal – highly sophisticated for the period, but an anachronism today – a lab bench, a writing desk, a small bathroom and some gym equipment, plus parking space for the first Batmobile. As the years passed and his fight against crime intensified, he'd extended his headquarters deeper into the surrounding caverns and the ones below, eventually resulting in the multi-level, high-tech behemoth of today. But Jack still thought it was the Nineties, and clearly he was confused by the sophistication of the instruments on display. But there was no real time to explain it to him, nor did Batman feel secure or ready to do so. The information would still be too much for him to handle now.

So instead he grumbled out that he had access to technology which, as of now, wasn't readily available to the public, which was true. This drew stares of interest from Jack, but he didn't question the vigilante further, likely, Batman thought, from fear of upsetting him. This in itself was troubling.

He didn't want Jack to be scared of him.

Funny, since he'd been working practically his entire career to make the Joker scared of him, and had never once succeeded.

Things seemed so very strange sometimes.

"Put it on." Batman instructed.

Jack looked down, turning the suit over and over in his hands. He looked up at the detective, obvious embarrassment on his face.

"C… can you help me?"

He gave a nod.

"Here…" He reached out. "Let me have it." Jack handed him back the suit. "It's sectional. See?" He began to break it apart, showing the thin man where each section attached. And Jack watched him intently, obviously fascinated by the process.

"Come here." Batman motioned him over.

With his awkward stride, Jack stepped towards him, keeping his eyes down.

"This is the chest plate." Batman explained, placing the front torso of the suit against Jack. It hung loose on his thin frame, and Bruce hoped silently the entire thing would look convincing once he had it on.

Jack silently watched Batman's hands as he fastened the thing to him, seemingly mesmerized, and without further dialog, Bruce proceeded to put in place every piece, moving quietly around Jack, who stood absolutely still, until finally he was fully covered save for the mask and boots. It was too large for him, and it was obvious; his skinny limbs and mid section failing to fill out the hollows in the armor.

But it would have to do.

Jack looked up at him finally, his brow furrowed.

"D… do I look alright?" he asked, and the detective had to actually fight not to smile. In truth, he looked like a gawky kid – like the ones who dressed up for those ridiculous superhero conventions - but he didn't need to know that.

"You look fine," he said.

And unexpectedly, a smile spread across Jack's own features, and Bruce found himself taken aback by how completely _different _it was from the Joker's. It was the same as in those photographs he'd seen of him from before the accident, a warm smile; shy and sweet. There was none of the malicious glee he so often saw in the Joker's grin. It was a smile of good nature, of genuine happiness.

He seemed excited by Batman's confirmation that, indeed, he looked alright, it only serving to make him look more as a child.

Batman turned away, his lips pulling slightly up.

"The boots are over there," he said, pointing to a separate case close to the desk. "The third pair from the right."

Jack moved towards the boots, feeling a bit awkward as he walked in the suit, feeling its weight. He wondered how Batman made it look so effortless. But then he remembered the power he'd felt in the vigilante's hands when he'd grabbed him, and the question vanished from his mind.

As he passed the desk, his eyes scanned over it, curiosity again swelling inside him. There was a photograph of a woman, held in a small frame. Without thinking, Jack reached for it, picking it up and looking at it more closely.

The woman was dressed in what looked like an elaborate and expensive Halloween cat costume, and Jack noted with awe her extreme beauty, apparent even under the mask.

"Is… is this your lady-friend?" he asked, looking up.

Batman frowned slightly.

Jack had asked the question innocently enough, but Bruce liked to maintain a fierce privacy over his romantic relationships. Anyone bringing up the topic made him distinctly uncomfortable, most especially from a man who looked exactly like his greatest enemy, even though his personality suggested otherwise

Still, he felt _wrong_ lying to Jack. There was something about his disarming and painful sincerity that made one want to just tell him the truth. Like he deserved this much in return for his own honesty.

Batman nodded.

"Sort of," he replied. It was true. Selina wasn't what he would call a girlfriend, per se. There was nothing steady about what they had. And she was far too independent for Bruce to ever consider her thus. But they cared for each other nonetheless; indeed shared a real love.

Jack stared at him in puzzlement.

"S… sort of?" He asked.

He didn't understand. He had difficulty grasping concepts not absolute in nature.

Batman sighed.

"It's an on again, off again type of relationship," he mumbled.

Still Jack looked confused.

"Y… you mean she's your… your lady-friend only sometimes?"

Bruce again found himself struggling to not smile. Jack's terminology was what one would call antiquated, but the crusader could tell it wasn't done intentionally. His whole manor, really, was old fashioned; immensely polite.

Batman nodded.

"It's… complicated," he offered. That was the best he could do.

"Oh." Jack said softly.

His eyes dropped back to the photo.

"She has amazing facial structure. Her eyes are real pretty, too."

And now Bruce did smile.

"She's very beautiful, yes," he agreed, nodding.

Suddenly Jack's eyes moved up to him, glistening.

"D-does she invite you into the bathroom? Like… like Jeannie?"

Mortified, Bruce averted his eyes, hoping Jack couldn't see his embarrassment.

He knew Jack was oblivious to the effect of his words. Certainly he hadn't meant any harm, but Batman knew it was just this sort of thing that had gotten Jack into trouble in the past. Jeanette Reinking had told him as much. Bruce knew from experience that many people out there weren't so forgiving or understanding of the condition Jack suffered from. They failed to perceive that he wasn't purposely trying to insult or embarrass them, and then they would become angry.

And Jack wouldn't know when to back off, not being adept at reading expressions or picking up on shifts in mood. It was exactly what had happened when he'd continued to press about Jason, unable to see Batman's growing displeasure.

Ms. Reinking had explained to him that Jack would routinely get into trouble, receiving beatings from people he'd unintentionally made mad. She'd told Batman how painful it had been for her to see Jack constantly getting hurt through no real fault of his own. He wouldn't understand why, and she remembered how often she would have to help him from the ground after a beating and tell him it was okay, that it wasn't his fault, because he would always start to apologize to her, like he'd failed her in some way.

Jack was brave, she'd told him. That he was driven to defend her honor, even if his adversary was ten times his size. He rarely showed fear of anyone save for his father; a quality he shared with the Joker, Batman supposed.

Ultimately, Jack's autism made it difficult for him to recognize when he was in danger. There were some very _mean_ people in the world, and Jack would need to learn that certain things were inappropriate in polite conversation.

The vigilante cleared his throat, feeling incredibly awkward.

"Jack…" he began, trying to be gentle. "Remember what I said about privacy?"

Jack stared at him, nodding slowly.

"Well, this is something most people would consider private. It makes certain people uncomfortable to talk about their relationships. They like to keep it to themselves."

Jack was looking at him with that same puzzlement again, when suddenly his eyes lit up.

"You mean like a _secret_?" he asked, his voice hushed, sounding almost conspiratorial.

Again Bruce sighed.

"Yes, Jack … like a secret," he answered.

Jack nodded, his expression shifting in to one of contemplation, as though he were working out some equation in his mind.

Soon afterwards, they left for the hospital.


	33. Chapter 33

**Hey, new chapter guys. Huge thanks goes to my beta TheMadCapLaughs for all her help on this one. She really added a lot to it. Please remember to leave a review if you can guys, and hope you enjoy.**

**Chapter 33:**

Getting into the hospital had been easy. As soon as Batman walked in the door, there was no question as to whether the hospital staff was going to give him what he wanted.

Jack had been extremely worried his presence was going to ruin everything; that they were going to see through his disguise and have him hauled back to Arkham, where he couldn't see his wife.

But Bruce had reassured him, saying that Batman would do all the talking and all Jack needed to do was stand there and say nothing.

Jack had done exactly that. He remained silent as Batman spoke with the receptionist and the doctor who had treated Jeannie. They were informed that Jeannie was still unconscious but stable, and had been moved to the recovery ward. He'd answered that he wanted simply to examine her chart and her wound in order to help with his investigations. She didn't need to be awake for this, he'd said, but if she did wake up and he was able to question her, all the better.

They hadn't even asked him who Jack was or why he was there. He was accepted without question. It didn't strike them as odd that Batman should be accompanied by another costumed vigilante-type; he'd been here countless times with the various Robins and other heroes, so it didn't even cross their minds that his current companion might be anything less than legit.

Bruce was the first to enter the room, telling Jack to wait outside while he checked for surveillance equipment. When he was satisfied there wasn't any, he summoned Jack in.

The moment Jack entered, he froze. He felt numb at seeing his wife lain out on the bed, bloody gauze taped against her throat, an IV drip stuck in her right arm and an oxygen mask covering her face.

Quietly, Batman closed the door, locking it. He watched as Jack reached up with shaking hands, removing his mask.

"Jeannie…" he breathed, his voice a hushed whisper.

He went to her, the mask dropping thoughtlessly from his fingers as he reached out, grasping hold of her hand.

He sank to his knees, grief taking him and the tears fell, streaking down his cheeks.

"Jeannie…" he said, his voice cracking as he leaned over her, wrapping his other hand around hers, holding tight as he buried his face against the sheeted edge of the bed.

Batman observed the scene at a respectful distance. He wasn't going to interfere here. It wasn't his place.

"Oh God," Jack wept. "I'm s-sorry Jeannie. I'm so sorry. Please don't die. _Please._"

Bruce's eyes shifted to the floor. This was going to be rough. She was everything to Jack. That was obvious. He loved her more than his own life. Bruce didn't want to think about what the consequences for Jack would be if she didn't pull through; if the last thread binding this man to his humanity was severed forever. Most likely, the Joker would take over completely, with no chance left of a cure. Or he'd fall into a catatonic state, with no hope of emerging from it.

"Please, please, please…" Jack continued to plead, like some desperate mantra, over and over.

Minutes passed, the only sound the soft, steady beep of the heart rate monitor and Jack's quiet sobs, punctuated every few seconds by his frantic supplications.

He didn't notice when his wife's eyelids began to flutter, his face still pressed against the bed.

Batman did.

He stepped forward.

"Jack…" he began. But the thin man didn't react.

"Jack!" he repeated, louder this time.

And slowly Jack lifted his face, looking confusedly at the vigilante.

He nodded towards Jeannie.

Jack blinked, staring a moment longer before realizing what Batman was motioning towards, and his eyes slid to his wife, growing large as he watched her begin to stir.

His breath caught in his throat, fresh tears continuing to stream down his cheeks, his hands tightening around hers.

"Jeannie…" he murmured.

Her lids struggled to open, leaden and heavy. There were sounds around her, but she couldn't decipher them. Briefly she thought this must be what it was like underwater. But as seconds passed, her senses sharpened, and she became aware of a rhythmic beeping accompanied by erratic, unsteady breaths.

The feeling in her body began to return, though dulled. She felt a hand wrapped within her own. Her eyelids peeled back, squinting at the unfamiliar flood of light.

"J… Jeannie?"

She heard her name, but it would take several seconds to recognize the speaker.

When she did, her eyes snapped wider and she turned towards him.

She instinctively pushed back against the pillows, terrified.

"Jeannie…" he repeated, and though the timbre was the same, the tone couldn't have been more different. She noticed he had been crying. Suddenly most of her apprehension was gone, replaced by relief.

"It's alright, Jeanette." Her eyes shifted in the direction of the speaker, and she saw Batman, looking at her with assurance. "It's your husband. It's Jack."

But she already knew that.

"Oh God, Jeannie…" she looked back to him, and now fresh tears fell from his eyes, his hands closing tighter around hers.

She opened her mouth to say his name, but all that came out was a muffled croak.

"D… don't talk, Jeannie," he said, his voice shaking. He unclasped his right hand and reached forward, smoothing her hair gently back from her forehead. "Don't talk… Y… You're going to be alright. I… I promise you'll be al-alright."

She was confused.

Was… was this a dream? How was Jack here, touching her, talking to her? And Batman? She couldn't… didn't remember…

With hesitation, she pulled her gaze from him, her eyes scanning around the room, trying frantically to determine where she was, if this was even _real_.

When she caught hold of the heart rate monitor, and then the IV drip, and the white walls and sterilized smell of ammonia, it dawned on her quickly what the place was.

The memories came flooding back, of how she'd been seated across from… from that woman, from Harley Quinn. How they'd been talking when…

"W-which h-hospital is t-this?" she managed, her voice frail.

Jack felt his own throat constrict, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

He'd never seen Jeannie like this. Never seen her so vulnerable, so… so hurt.

He wanted to answer her, to reassure her, but the words wouldn't come. They couldn't. She'd always been the strong one, the talker, the do-er. His face crumpled with pain, his eyes closing as he tried to quell the rush of tears.

Bruce saw him struggling and stepped in.

"Gotham General," he answered. "You were admitted late last evening. You've been here about sixteen hours."

She blinked, trying to process everything he'd said.

"Oh God Jeannie, I'm… I'm so s-sorry." Jack cried, his voice cracking heavily, wavering. "Th-this is… this is all my ff-fault. If I hadn't… hadn't asked you t-to…"

She shushed him, reaching up with her hand, touching gently the side of his face, cupping his cheek as best she could.

His eyes lifted to hers, filled with heavy regret, his hand coming to rest over her own.

Jeannie shook her head weakly.

No words passed between them. Words weren't necessary. It was enough for them just to hold one other's gaze; just to be able to _touch_ one another.

Batman felt like an intruder, watching them. What was happening between them… it was intensely private.

For the first time, Bruce was getting to see what their relationship had _been_, how they'd responded to each other, how they'd communicated. What they'd _meant _to one another.

What they still meant to one another.

There was unconditional love, deep and sincere. So close that they could read each other's minds. He'd seen it between his own parents. His mind flicked back to when he was six years old. Martha was in bed with flu. Bruce was sitting at foot of the bed, drawing pictures with crayons to cheer her up: animals, the family's cars, the Manor itself, all rendered in his childish hand. He watched as his father tended to Martha, feeding her hot soup he'd prepared, rubbing Vicks into her upper back, fetching a fresh handkerchief each time she sneezed. Thomas had just come off of a lengthy shift at this very hospital and was obviously exhausted, but his first concern was his wife. Nothing needed to be said. It was all there, in the way he tenderly stroked her hair; the way Martha gratefully squeezed his hand.

Bruce observed Jack and Jeannie _clinging_ to one another, as though nothing else mattered in that moment; that as long as they had each other, everything else would be okay.

It tore at the vigilante's heart, knowing it couldn't last, that the Joker was going to return and make his presence felt at some point. This was the longest he'd ever stayed in 'Jack' mode, at least that he knew of, and the lunatic was simply too strong to remain dormant for much longer.

The realization reminded Batman of the situation with Harley. He knew that at some point, he was going to have to ask Jeannie about what had happened. But it would be wrong to disrupt them now, he reasoned, so he waited. Finally, after nearly ten minutes, Jeannie was the first to break the almost trance like state, running her thumb soothingly along Jack's cheek and smiling vaguely before turning away, looking to the crusader.

"… Batman…" she started, her voice frail.

He nodded in her direction.

"Mrs. Napier?"

"W… what's going on?"

"I was going to ask you, Mrs. Napier. You were attacked by Harley Quinn. Is that right?"

She blinked, before nodding slowly.

"Y-yes," she said. "I… I went to speak with her and…"

"Why?" Batman cut her short. "Why were you talking to her?"

Jeannie's brow furrowed.

"She… she's been messing with Jack's head," she sighed. "Making him think I wanted nothing to do with him, that I'd been unfaithful to him. I wasn't … wasn't going to let her get away with that. So I went to speak with her."

Batman nodded gravely. "That figures," he said. "Knowing Quinn, she isn't going to let the Joker go without a fight."

_She sat across from the girl, a grim sense of determination overcoming any fear she might have otherwise felt. _

_The first thing to really strike her was how very much Harley Quinn looked like herself. She'd noted the superficial similarities – the blonde hair, the blue eyes - in the video footage she'd watched and in newspaper pictures. But sitting across from her in person, the likeness was almost uncanny. It gave Jeannie a strange sense of comfort, realizing that the Joker, whether consciously or not, had sought out the companionship of someone who reminded him of her. It let her know that he still had a vague recollection of his old life, even if it was submerged deep in his consciousness – or subconscious. _

_She also noticed how _young _Harley was, or seemed. She couldn't have been older than her early thirties, and her petite frame, coupled with the giggly, girlish aura she exuded, gave the impression of someone far younger than that. _

_Jeannie supposed this, too, made a strange sort of sense. The last time she and Jack had been together, she had been 25 years old and he 23, although she too had looked younger. It was as if the Joker had been subconsciously trying to recreate that specific time through Harley; to recapture the _things_ he'd had before everything had gone so terribly wrong for him. Then again, the Joker was said to treat Harley Quinn abysmally - somewhere between an unpaid servant and target practice. Witnesses claimed to have watched him slap, punch, kick and berate her in public, and he'd apparently tried to murder her on at least a couple of occasions, although something – what? - had compelled him to change his mind at the last minute. That, or Harley had managed to escape herself. _

_It had occurred to Jeannie that the Joker's ill-treatment of Harley might have been an attempt at severing the last remaining ties to his humanity. That he was acting out of anger and frustration at what he perceived as an intrusion; a potential weakness. Harley believed it was she who was responsible for having this effect on him, but Jeannie wasn't so sure. Her conviction grew stronger, now she could look the girl in the eye and see for herself just how much they looked alike. _

_It made her sad for the girl – the term "woman" just didn't seem appropriate - knowing how incredibly manipulative the Joker was. She didn't think, looking at Harley, that she'd ever had a chance against him._

_It didn't help that Harley gave the overall impression of being a _child_, her hair done up in pig tails, her expression petulant, lower lip stuck out and arms crossed over her chest._

_When she spoke, it did nothing to alleviate the impression. And it was there is seemed any similarity between the two of them died._

"_What do ya want, ya stupid stink head?" Harley demanded, glaring. Jeannie looked back at her, unmoved. After speaking with the Joker and holding his gaze, this girl's attempts at intimidation seemed comical by comparison. _

_She recalled the banned documentary she'd watched with Batman. One section featured archive footage of the young Dr Harleen Quinzel, presumably included to illustrate the contrast between who she was and what she'd become. She was being interviewed in the grounds of Arkham for a local news feature on the asylum's effectiveness - or lack thereof - in actually curing its inmates. It was hard for Jeannie to reconcile the bespectacled, serious young woman in a white doctor's coat, her blonde hair pulled back into a severe knot, with the bubblegum-blowing, pigtailed apparition sitting before her. They even sounded different. Dr Quinzel spoke in a low, flat, emotionless voice, like she was deliberately trying to suppress the thick Brooklyn accent flaunted by her soon-to-be alter-ego. Less than a fortnight after this footage aired, intoned the narrator, Dr Harleen Quinzel helped the Joker escape from Arkham. _

_The staff here at Arkham obviously made a large distinction between the threat level posed by the Joker and Harley. Jeannie hadn't been allowed any sort of physical contact with the Joker, after all, always having to speak to him from behind a wall of Plexiglas. But with Harley, they'd allowed her to sit in the same room, explaining that when not around the Joker, the girl was more or less docile. "She's actually quite nice. A little kooky, but basically sweet," explained one of the orderlies. "Put her within sight of the Joker, though, and she just goes nuts." _

She's like a hognose snake_, thought Jeannie, _puffing out her little hood in imitation of her king cobra boyfriend. They're cute, but people forget they _are_ rear-fanged venomous.

_She just hoped she was prepared. _

_Jeannie regarded her a long moment, her face stoic, giving nothing away, and then finally she spoke, her voice rigid._

"_You've been talking to my husband…" she started._

_Harley's face twisted in agitation, scoffing loudly._

_Jeannie ignored her._

"_I want you to stop," she said flatly._

"_In yer dreams, lady. He's _my _man. And if ya know what's good fer ya, it'll be _you_ who stays the hell away!"_

_Okay, so this wasn't going to be easy. Jeannie hadn't expected it would. Maybe the best approach was a less hostile one._

"_Harley…" she began, as though she'd known the girl her whole life. "listen, I know things haven't been easy for you, I know that you've suffered but…"_

"_Suffered? Says who? Don't you dare try and psycho-analyze me, lady. I'm a trained psychiatrist. You don't know a thing about me."_

"_And you don't know a thing about my husband, either!" Jeannie countered, unable to hide the anger from her voice. She had to calm down._

"_He ain't your husband, though, is he? He's the Joker! A being beyond yer _stupid_ comprehension! Him and me! I'm the only one who understands him!" _

_Jeannie shook her head._

"_No Harley. You don't understand him. You only think you do. Do you really believe the Joker has ever shown you who he _really_ is? He's a _manipulator_. That's what he does. He's only ever played games with you, made you think you love him…"_

"_Yeah, yeah. Heard it a thousand times. An' yet I still keep toddling right on back to him. Funny, that," She played with a lock of hair, then fixed Jeannie with a stare. "Has it ever occurred to you that it's nothin' I can't handle; that I actually _like _his shtick? She paused and smiled. "He never did _nothin'_ I didn't want him to do. Maybe _I_ seduced _him._ Ever think of that?" _

"_Harley, _think_…" Jeannie implored, still trying to be reasonable. "Look where you've ended up, all due to your association with him. You think he isn't laughing about that? You said it yourself; you were a promising psychiatrist! You had so much potential, still do if…"_

"_He opened my eyes," Harley cut in. "I was blind before. Blind like you and all the rest o' the bozos. He showed me what was true. About myself, and the world. You're just jealous 'cause he didn't show you!" _

"_He's deceived you Harley. You're nothing but an amusement to him. Another victim."_

"_He's intoxicating, isn't he?" Harley said wistfully, as if she hadn't heard her. "Strong. Brilliant. Sexy. And from what I can see, your "Jack" wasn't like that at all." She leaned forward so her face was almost touching Jeannie's. "I don't blame you for coming back and tryin' to get a piece of the action, wifey. Does it bother you that I got him at his _best?_ As the man he was s'posed to be?"_

_Jeannie shifted slightly, uneasily. _

"_That's the problem, isn't it Harley? You wouldn't have given a crap about him if he was still Jack." Harley's eyes narrowed as Jeannie pressed on. "After all, Jack wasn't going to make you rich and famous, was he?" _

_But Harley didn't even seem to hear her, her eyes growing big, shining with anger._

"_It's true, isn't it?" Jeannie pushed. "Why did you request to work with the Joker in the first place? A greenhorn like you, fresh out of med school? What made you think you'd succeed where others had failed?"_

_Harley sighed, and looked down. "He knew what to expect with the experienced ones," she mumbled. "I assumed – mistakenly, in hindsight – that a fresh approach, a newcomer like myself, could potentially blindside him." Her voice was low and steady, and Jeannie thought she caught a glimpse of the serious young woman she'd seen in the documentary. Then almost as suddenly, the manic brightness returned. _

"_Still, it all worked out for the best in the end, eh?" she chirped, her eyes gleaming. _

_Jeannie remained stone-faced. _

"_You wanted to write a book, didn't you?" she queried. "The inside track on the world's deadliest mind. Now _that _would have been a _huge_ best-seller, right? _He's_ the one everybody wants to know about after all, isn't he? Not the Mad Hatter. Not the Riddler." _

"_Yeah, well, that was before he liberated me. I abandoned the book. I couldn't do that to him. Not once I got to know him." _

"_But he fed you a bunch of lies, Harley. Every psychiatrist he ever had … he told them a different story. You already know this."_

"_Some patients lie because it's an easier way of dealing with the truth. Abused patients often learn to … disassociate. They spin stories. They obfuscate. Usually because what really happened was too traumatic, too shameful, too …"_

"_Harley, I know all that. My point is that there was calculation in what he did to you, and to the doctors he had before you. For sure, people sometimes lie to avoid dealing with the horror of what really happened to them. But these people aren't looking to drive their shrinks mad, or persuade them to kill themselves, or whatever. The Joker did all of this and more. Every single time. Surely you can see a pattern here?"_

"_Well, maybe they deserved it," Harley snapped, her face hard. "They were obviously too weak to just go with the flow. To accept the truth …"_

"_And you're including yourself in this? _You_ went crazy, too. He couldn't remember his past, Harley. As far as he was concerned, there _was_ no past, no underlying trauma for him to mask. So when he did lie, it was with the intent to manipulate people and nothing more. That's why nobody wants to touch him in here. That's why they just dope him up, put him in a straitjacket, and hope for the best."_

_Harley chewed her lip, frowning, looking like she was mulling over Jeannie's words. Then abruptly she lifted her head, her face twisted into an angry snarl. _

"_You're tryin' ta hurt him and I won't let you!" she spat. "I won't let you hurt him! I love him and he loves me!"_

"_You love him?" Jeannie asked in disbelief. "Harley, do you even know what you _did_ to him?" _

"_Yeah! Saved him from _you,_ you selfish bitch!"_

_Jeannie shook her head._

"_No. You hurt him in the _worst_ possible way. You don't even realize, do you? If you really loved him, if you really _cared _about him, you wouldn't have done what you did."_

"_Why didya come back?" Harley hissed. "Why now? Funny, how ya only came stormin' back into his life once you realized who he is. You seemed happy enough to live without your precious "Jack" for fifteen years, didn't ya?" On the other side of the country, no less. An' you have the gall to call _me_ a glory hunter?" _

"_Harley, I thought my husband was dead! Do you honestly think that if I'd had even the slightest inkling Jack was alive, I would've left Gotham? I'm not here because Jack's the Joker, Harley. I'm here because the Joker is JACK. What will it take to get through to you?"_

"_There would'a been a grave, right?" Harley mused, as if she was talking to herself. "Or at least a memorial of some kind, if they never found the body. Yet you couldn't wait to hot-foot it to California, could you? I'll bet you never even left flowers on his grave. I'll bet you left this sinkhole an' never looked back. And I'll bet you couldn't fucking _wait, _either. Some grievin' widow _you_ are, missy."_

_Jeannie's eyes filled with tears. "You know what? You're right. I could have stuck around, that's true. But I had a child. I tried to get a job on a Gotham paper, or a magazine, but there were no openings. I did telemarketing for a little while, but it was a struggle. Then a friend in San Francisco contacted me and told me about a job with the Examiner. The pay was good. What was the alternative? Stay in Gotham, and risk our child starving?" She looked Harley full in the face. "And for your information, yes, there _is_ a memorial, but it's in San Francisco, not here. This city - Gotham - was the source of so much pain for him, and I wanted to take him with me, so he couldn't be hurt in death like he was in his life. I paid for it in installments. It took a while, but I did it. And I left flowers there every single week."_

"_Aww, ain't you the big I am!" Harley crowed. "A touching story, indeed. Excuse me if I'm not buying it."_

"_I don't care whether you buy it or not. I'm trying to _help _him, Harley. He's sick. He _needs_ help. If you at all cared about him you would _see _that. You would _know_ that. And you wouldn't be trying to stop it from happening."_

_Harley's entire form had gone rigid, her eyes fuming, an imperceptible tremor running through her frame._

"_NO!"she spat, her face twisting in rage. "You don't know! You don't know nothin'! My puddin' needs me! You couldn't… you don't understand him! None of you understand him! He's… he's a genius! A God among men! But you're too stupid to know! You put him in here and, and, and call him a monster, but it's because you can't accept that he's right! You… you'd never stick by him like me! You just wanna hurt him! You'd leave him the second things got a little rough. I know you… I know you would!"_

_Jeannie's own anger flared. The nerve, the _nerve_ of her to say, to suggest... She had no clue. No fucking clue about _any _of it._

"_You ignorant _fool!_" she hissed. "I've known Jack since he was a _child_. Since he was eight _fucking_ years old! How long have you known him, huh? Six years? Seven?"_

_Harley sat impassive, her eyes narrowed, her lower lip sticking out. _

"_And just who is it you _know_, exactly?" Jeannie pushed. "A creation? Something his mind made up so he could _protect_ himself from people _just_ like _you?_ I've seen him suffer worse than your sick mind can even _imagine_, _Dr_. Quinzel. _Before _he could pretend that everything was so goddamned _funny._ I've seen that _God_ among men _crying, Harley._ I'd hold onto him for hours, letting him know someone actually _cared_ about him. You have _no _idea. No fucking _clue_! _

_She leaned forward, wanting to make herself clear. _

"_The _Joker_ is nothing but a result of the abuse he suffered as a boy and a young man. He's a coping mechanism. Don't forget, Harley, I was _there._ I watched as people like _you_ shat all over him, took advantage of him without a goddamned _thought_. You see this confident, boisterous force. That's what he _is _to you. That's _all _he is to you. You don't love him, and you never have. You're intoxicated by the feeling of _power_ he gives you."_

_Across the table, Harley visibly seethed. "That's bullshit. Caca. Doo-doo. He helped me recognize the power in _myself._ He …."_

_Jeannie cut her off. "That's not the point. The man _I _knew had no _belief_ in himself, no confidence, but I loved him regardless. He thought of himself as _worthless, _as deserving of_ _all the bad things that happened to him._ _I was the one who tried to show him he was actually _worth_ something. But it was _hard_, you know, because people kept _hurting_ him. You say I wouldn't stand by the Joker like you have? I'm standing by him right now! It's _Jack_ you wouldn't have taken a second glance at. And you know why, too." She took a deep breath. "Because you wouldn't have seen anything in him you could _use_. Not like the _Joker_, your guaranteed ticket to fame and fortune. Jack wouldn't have even registered on your radar."_

_She paused a moment, regarding the younger woman, taking in her furious, unmoving expression. _

_Jeannie couldn't care less._

"_So you _love_ him, huh?" she questioned. "Is that why you chose to _manipulate_ him the way you did? All so you could continue feeling like a _God_ yourself. You _used _him – used him brutally - for your own selfish ends. You're no different from the others. You saw a vulnerable man, an _innocent_ man, and you didn't hesitate to take advantage. He thought I'd _abandoned_ him after what you said. And given how _fragile_ Jack is, we're lucky he didn't _kill _himself because of you. But you don't care. Anything to get your little fix of _power_, huh? And you accuse me of being selfish?"_

_Harley sat, her head down, chewing her lip, obviously thinking hard. For a second, Jeannie had the crazy thought that she might have somehow penetrated the girl's thick skull, but the feeling evaporated as Harley lifted her head and spoke. _

"_Look, I never said I was a nice person," she said, exhaling. "If I was, I wouldn't be here. I'd be in some fancy-pants spa institution like Willow Wood upstate. There ain't no nice guys here in Arkham, Reinking. And the inmates are just the tip of the iceberg." There was resignation in her voice, and Jeannie suddenly felt overcome with sadness for the girl; how she'd basically given up on herself, just like Jack almost had. _

_Harley noticed. "_Don't_ feel sorry for me," she insisted, shaking her head. "It was written in the stars. This is who I am. All Mistah J did was to awaken what was already lying dormant inside me." She played with a lock of hair. "So yeah, your husband isn't any use to me. I don't want him. I only want the Joker." She paused, sighing. "Look. I may be a lousy, rotten, stinkin' bad egg to the core, but at least … at least I'm honest. I hope you can credit me with that, despite everything else."_

_Jeannie nodded, silent. _

"_Lissen…" Harley began. "I have money stashed away. Lotsa money, from some jobs I pulled on my own. Even Mistah J don't know about it."_

"_No doubt. He'd have taken it from you if he did."_

_Harley waved a dismissive hand. "Anyway, I'm … I'm willing to let you have it. All of it. Next time I bust outta here, I'll get it for you. On the condition you leave this burg, and stay the hell away from Mistah J." _

_Jeannie exploded with laughter. "You can't be serious!" she exclaimed. Then just as suddenly, she softened. "Harley, no amount of money on this planet would _ever_ make me give up my husband. My son's _father. _Do you even understand what that means? I'm not some random serial killer groupie you can buy off." _

"_You're a mother. You have a son," Harley said, looking down, and Jeannie's eyes narrowed. _

_So, this was the trump card, she thought. Harley was going to threaten Rory's life in a last-ditch attempt to force her to give up the Joker – no, _Jack_. Like hell. If she ever laid so much as a goddamned _finger_ on her son … She looked at Harley, calm and waiting for the threat to slip from the girl's lips. _

_But it never came._

"_I coulda had a kid too, you know," Harley murmured.. _

"_What do you mean?" Jeannie replied, softly. _

"_Exactly what it means." _

"_Elaborate, please."_

_The clown girl lowered her head. "I … I never told nobody about this, but a few years back, I … I got pregnant." _

_Jeannie raised her eyebrows. "I see."_

"_It was his," Harley said, sighing. "I haven't slept with any other guys, not since … since I got together with him. I thought he'd be happy about it but…" She looked down, her face crumpling in pain. "H... he wasn't."_

_She sniffled, tears springing quickly to her eyes, and Jeannie continued to watch her, saying nothing._

"_When he found out he… he got real mad and he… he kicked me… in the stomach…"_

_Jeannie's face remained stoic._

"_The baby died." Harley went on, undeterred. "I couldn't even g-go to the hospital. He wouldn't let me. I had to… to flush the fetus down the toilet." Her voice broke. "He killed our baby. Your _son's_ little half-brother or half-sister. And all he did was laugh. Laughing and joking about missing his calling, how he should be running a backstreet abortion clinic, while I was lying on that bed, in agony, bleeding out. He wouldn't even gimme an aspirin." She raised her head, and looked at Jeannie forcefully. _

"_So if you … if you still think you can run with this guy, have at it. 'Cause he ain't got a paternal bone in his body anymore. _That's_ your husband, Reinking. That's what he's _really _like_._ I can handle it. But the question is - can _you?_"_

_Silence filled the space between them, dragging on for seconds, stretching into a minute._

_And then, when she felt it apropos, Jeannie scoffed, loudly, and Harley's head snapped up, looking at her wide eyed, confused._

"_That's an interesting story, Harley," she began, calmly, her voice soft. "Except you forgot one _minor_ detail. Frankly, I'm surprised, considering you were once his _doctor_."_

_Confusion flickered across the clown girl's face. _

"_I know you've seen this..." Jeannie went on, reaching down to the floor for her purse. She picked it up, unlatching the top, and felt inside, pulling out a folder. After laying it on the table, she flipped it open. "The Joker's medical history. I thought you might try something like this, so I brought it along." She turned to the second page of the file. "He's _sterile,_ Harley," she said, emphatically tapping the paragraph detailing the specific condition. "The chemical exposure from the accident that turned him into the Joker made him _infertile_. He couldn't get _you_ or any other woman pregnant. Even if he _wanted _to. So I _know _you're lying. But again, good try. Even if it _was_ a bit desperate." _

_Harley stared back at her, silent, at a loss for words. She looked shocked, her eyes almost blank, her mouth hung slightly open._

_Jeannie stared hard at her, saying nothing, still a long moment before she closed the folder back up and replaced it in her purse. She stood, swinging the purse over her shoulder. "Remind me," she said curtly. "What was that thing you said about _honesty_ again?"_

_She looked down at the younger woman, still sat in her chair, staring absently ahead. Jeannie's mouth set in a deep frown. She had one last thing to say. She leaned forward, her hands gripping the edge of the table, so she was almost nose-to-nose with Harley._

"_If you _ever_ fuck with my husband again…" _

_Harley looked up at her._

"_You ever come _near_ him again, and I'll make sure you_ _spend the rest of your miserable, pathetic life in this shithole. Do you understand me? I'll make sure you _never_ get out."_

_Seconds passed. Harley said nothing. There was no spark of life in her eyes, just a void. Jeannie barely registered the speed with which the girl's expression changed from blankness to one of sheer, unrestrained fury, or the movement before it happened; the way she rose out of her seat, her arm swinging out viciously._

_And all Jeannie knew next was the pain consuming her; the feeling of something wet washing over her throat, and then her shirt…_

The hognose snake_, Jeannie thought. She would have laughed, if only …_

_Then there was nothing._

_Nothing at all._

He fell back, his hands coming up to his head, burying in his hair, his face twisting in pain.

Jeannie turned towards him in alarm, her eyes growing wide.

"Jack?" she questioned, confused.

Batman immediately tensed, sensing too something wrong. He took a step forward, watching Jack as his eyes clamped tighter shut, his fingers burying deeper, in to his scalp, a low whine rising up from his throat.

"Jack, what's wrong? What is it?" Jeannie repeated, frantic.

Suddenly his lids snapped open, his hands falling. He looked up.

Bruce knew immediately. He could sense it. He sensed the terrible energy as it flooded back into Jack's body.

Batman stepped forward, his entire frame tensing.

"Joker…" he said, and Jeannie looked to the crusader, startled.

"No, is he…"

Batman threw a hand up, stopping her mid sentence, never taking his eyes from the Joker, who by now had fixed his own gaze on the vigilante.

The madman smiled.

"Well, _hell-oo,"_ he purred, and Batman said nothing, anxiety rising within him.

With obvious suspicion, the Joker's eyes flitted about the space, taking in his surroundings quickly but with continued confusion.

"Now as last I _recall_…" he began, pushing himself to his feet. "You and I stood together in a yard of _graves_. This, very clearly, is not such a place; though one could easily associate hospital rooms with de…" He stopped cold as his eyes fell upon Jeannie, who stared back at him with uncertainty.

It was instantaneous, the smile going from the lunatic's lips, replaced by an uncharacteristically heavy frown, his brow furrowing as he continued to look at her, long and hard and with deep eyes. His gaze scanned over the entirety of her form, observing her state, the machines and tubes and mask sticking grotesquely from her arms and face. And for the briefest of moments, she caught the concern in his features. And then it was gone, like wind through his hair, his eyes sliding back to Batman.

"Who invited _her_ to the party?" he asked, his voice steady, betraying none of the look she had just caught in his stare. "Bros above hos, remember, Bats?"

Bruce opened his mouth to answer, but was cut short.

"And what in the hell am I _wearing_?" The Joker continued, now looking down at himself, his lip curling in distaste, his hands coming up and touching the chest plate of the Insider suit as though it were laced with poison. "Isn't this one of _yours_?"

He looked up at the detective.

"You never did have any taste, darling," he grinned. "I should introduce you to my personal tailor. Oh, wait, I can't … I killed him last year! _Hahahahahaa!"_

The visit was over. Jack was gone.

Bruce couldn't help frowning at the thought.

The contrast between the two, though they held the same features, the same body, the same structure, was too much.

And the vigilante couldn't help the deep sense of loss he felt at having that shy, sweet man crushed back beneath the surface.

Batman doubted someone like Jack could ever fight his way back to permanent consciousness against one so unrelenting, so forceful. Each time Jack disappeared, Bruce feared it would be for the last time.

Yet seeing the Joker standing there, tall and sure, smirking at him as though the very sight of the detective caused in him great amusement, he couldn't help _thinking_ of Jack; envisioning the madman with his demeanor.

In the hours they'd been together, the vigilante had felt the strange sense of having alwaysknown him. Not because of the twisted intimacy of his relationship with the Joker, but because of Jack's _honesty_, his disarming, natural _truth_. Bruce sensed that if only their paths had crossed in the days prior to Jack becoming the Joker - as children, even - they would have become lifelong friends, instead of acting out this twisted, eternal dance of one-upmanship.

Jeannie's reason for being so viciously protective of him was now apparent. And he missed the young man terribly.

Inside the Joker lived one of the kindest people Bruce had ever known. Devoid of malice… and filled with truth.

He locked eyes on the Joker's expectant face, saying nothing, and the Joker shrugged, his hands running along the sides of his armor, searching for the panel he knew would unlatch it.

"You better hope I'm not naked under this junk," he murmured absently. Within seconds, he had the suit removed, and was looking upon the oversized T-shirt and sweatpants with equal repulsion.

"What _is _this, Bats?" he asked, looking up. "Are you trying single handedly to ruin my good reputation as a finely dressed man? Because if that's the goal, dear, I have to say, you're off to a wonderful start." The grin returned. "Or perhaps you just desired some excuse to get me out of my _clothes, _so you could feast your eyes on my perfect form?"

Batman remained silent, his hands curling to fists, the familiar agitation of interacting with the Joker returning to him.

The clown scowled.

"Not very talkative_ now_, are you?" he asked, putting his hands on his hips. "I hope it hasn't anything to do with _her_." He tilted his head dismissively towards Jeannie. "You needn't concern yourself. She matters nothing to _us_."

"I'm sure you like to tell yourself that, Joker," Batman replied.

"Oh, he _speaks_!" The Joker exclaimed, his brows lifting. "Are you going to actually _do _something Batman, or are you planning on just standing there and _brooding_ for the rest of the evening? Because if it's the latter, doll, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take leave of this place, and I'm going to have to do so now."

"You know I can't let you do that." Batman said flatly.

The lunatic's head tilted curiously, a warm smile spreading over his lips.

"Of course not!" he answered. "That's what you think, and you may well be right. But I'm not going to make it easy for you; you know it as well as I do." He kept smiling.

Batman's jaw set tightly.

"I don't want to hurt you, Joker."

The madman grinned widely.

"That's what you always say. Actions speak louder than words, sweetheart."

For a moment, the two enemies stared at one another, neither moving, neither speaking. After a long moment the Joker shrugged, breaking the connection, and stepped towards the door without reservation.

Bruce stepped back, backing himself against the door, blocking it.

The Joker stopped inches from the crusader, looking slightly down at him, and Batman folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

The madman laughed lightly.

"How _cute_ you are!" he exclaimed, delighted. "Do you really think just _standing_ there is going to stop me?"

Batman stared back at him silently a moment, and then he said…

"It'll have to do."

And the Joker laughed more loudly.

"Oh Batsy. Dear, sweet, _naive_ Batsy." He shook his head, chuckling. "You're far from unintelligent – not quite my level of genius, of course, but who is? - so I'm quite certain you actually realize this. And now…" His smile grew deadly. "You can step aside and allow me to pass, _or_ I can _make_ you."

"Joker, it doesn't…" Batman began, but was cut off abruptly and violently by a hard slap against his lower jaw.

It happened so quickly, and so unexpectedly, that Bruce had barely registered the movement, having no time to react save for his lids closing against it.

When he again opened them, he saw the Joker looking at him with eyebrows raised and mouth set in a straight line, as though he fully anticipated some sort of reaction.

And he got one.

Anger exploded inside Bruce and without thought he reared back his hand, ready to strike the Joker, who only smiled, excitement lighting in his eyes.

Bruce felt his entire body tense, his hand curling to a fist. An instant later and he swung forward, the Joker's grin widening as he awaited the eruption of pain. He knew how well this blow would be received; knew the Joker would enjoy Batman's desire to hurt him.

But then there was a loud gasp, and it stopped the detectives blow midair, his gaze going past the Joker's own, resting on Jeannie, whose expression was one of total terror, her eyes wide, her hands up and curled in her hair.

The smile went quickly from the Joker's face, replaced by an angry frown as he turned also to look at her, and then quickly back to Batman.

And Bruce realized suddenly what he was doing, that he was giving in to just what the Joker wanted, and that it would do neither of them any good.

Slowly, his hand uncurled and he began to lower his arm back to his side, the Joker's face growing more displeased.

"What are you doing?" He asked sharply, not bothering to hide the anger from his voice.

Batman breathed deeply, forcing himself back in to a calm state.

"Like I said…" he began lowly. "I don't want to hurt you."

The Joker's expression twisted in to a scowl.

"Well you're going to _have_ to if you want to stop me!" He lashed out again, aiming for the lower part of Batman's face.

Only this time Batman was ready for it. He leaned back, avoiding the attack by inches. It caused the Joker to stumble forward from the missed momentum, falling clumsily into the vigilante. Bruce caught him and gently pushed him back as though he were handling a child.

The lunatic's entire frame went rigid with fury, his frown growing deeper, more pronounced. Again he lunged at the larger man, swinging wildly. Batman deftly blocked the first attempted blow with his forearm, and the second with his left hand.

The Joker stepped back, glaring hard.

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" he hissed. "Why won't you hit me back?"

Bruce held his gaze back, steadily, unwavering, and he shook his head.

"I won't hurt you, Joker. I don't want to hurt you."

And it was true. He didn't want to hurt him… not anymore. Not after seeing what he really was. If he did, then he wouldn't be any better than the numerous people who'd tormented Jack throughout his life. People who beat him and picked on him because it was easy; because there was no risk in doing so.

The Joker was supremely dangerous, but it had always been easy for Bruce to handle him physically. He wasn't going to allow himself to be one of those bullies anymore.

"Yes you do! You _always_ do! It's the _rules_, dammit!" The Joker's voice rose to a fever pitch, and he launched himself at the vigilante, pressing his hands against Batman's chest and shoving him back against the door as hard as he could.

"_Hit me, damn you!" _ he screamed, curling his long hands to fists and pounding them against the detective's chest. _"Why aren't you hitting me?"_

Batman barely felt the blows, the armor absorbing nearly all of the impact. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, hearing the terrible desperation in the Joker's voice, as desperate as it had been back at his father's grave. Bruce didn't think this day would ever come, the day where he would feel such an acute sadness for the madman, but here it was. And while he had a hard time seeing any of the Joker in Jack, maybe there was some of Jack in the Joker. Maybe there was a _lot_, right there in the Joker's panicked and pleading voice.

"Why won't you…" The Joker gasped, chest heaving, breathing hard after nearly a minute of slamming his hands against Batman, any blows to Bruce's face being simply deflected by the detectives arms. "Why won't you h-hit me?" His voice had lost its edge, the strength and energy dissipated, replaced by uncertainty and despondence. "Why …?"

His arms slumped to his side, his entire frame shaking visibly as he looked at Batman, his eyes almost begging.

"Y… you have to hit me. You have to. This… th-this is how it works. It's the _rules._ You have to hit me."

Bruce only shook his head, his mouth set in a determined line.

The madman stared at him, confused, his eyes glittering strangely, as though tears threatened behind them. He frowned, but it was one of sorrow, not anger.

"Please," he begged quietly. "_Please_. Y… you have to. You have to."

And never was the tragedy of the Joker more apparent, Batman's own lips pulling down at the sight of a man begging and desperate; wanting so badly to be hurt because… because that pain was all he had, the only kind of affection he'd ever known, his only way of telling anyone thought anything of him at all.

His anchor, his reality and his truth… without it, there was nothing… he was nothing. Bruce could see the belief in his eyes.

"Please…" he again begged, his voice now wavering, cracking. Bruce really thought the lunatic might start crying at this point, but he couldn't be swayed. Resolutely, he shook his head once more.

Tears streamed down from Jeannie's eyes, watching in horror the display, seeing how sick Jack had become… how very, very sick.

Seconds passed, neither man speaking, only looking at one another.

And then the madman's eyes clamped tight, his face twisting up in seeming greater pain, his hands coming to his head, burying in his hair.

"You're not playing anymore," he whispered in horrified realization. "Why aren't you playing anymore?"

He stumbled back a few feet.

"No." He whispered. "_No!_ I won't… I won't let you do this… I _can't_…"

Abruptly he turned, his eyes snapping open. "This is your fault!" he cried, rounding on Jeannie. "Y… you did this on purpose! You're taking him away from me! You're ruining _everything_! But I won't… I won't let you anymore. I won't _let_ you!"

He launched himself at his wife. Jeannie shrieked, eyes wide as saucers, and she pushed back against the headboard of the bed.

Batman didn't waste a moment. He lunged after the madman, reaching out and grasping hard hold of his right arm, twisting it behind and up the Joker's back.

The Joker hissed loudly, his face screwing up as pain exploded through his arm and in to his shoulder, but still he struggled, pushing forward, and Bruce had no choice but to twist the limb harder.

The Joker grunted out, his legs buckling, and Bruce used the opportunity to push the madman on to his knees, sinking down with him, fighting to keep hold of the lunatics arm and he fumbled with his free hand along his utility belt.

He had to put the Joker down and he had to do it _fast_. Things were quickly getting out of control.

Finally he got the pouch open and, reaching in, he pulled a cloth from it, saturated in chloroform.

Reaching around, he pressed the rag against the Joker's face, pulling the thin man back and against his chest, holding the cloth as tightly as he could over the Joker's nose and mouth, still wrenching his arm up painfully.

The Joker went ballistic, pushing and twisting with everything he had like a demented, writhing snake, his hand coming up and ripping viciously at Batman's own, fingers curling beneath the crusaders gauntlet, trying madly to pry it from his face, wild hisses and growls escaping past the cloth covering his mouth.

He was absurdly strong. It took every ounce of Bruce's own strength to hold him.

His teeth gritted, leaning and falling back, tightening his hold on the Joker as he continued to fight with the force of madness. And Batman prayed silently for the chloroform to work quickly.

The Joker was struggling so hard that he was going to break his own arm; his own _neck_ if the chemical didn't put him out fast enough. Batman was unable to loosen his hold, knowing that if he did, the madman would rocket out of his grasp and be on Jeannie before he could do anything.

If the Joker died because of this, if he snapped his own neck…

Fear ripped through Bruce's heart and his eyes clamped tight, begging in his mind for the chloroform to take action.

His relief was overwhelming when, only moments later, he felt the Joker's violent frame go suddenly slack, all the strength draining from it as the lunatic slumped forward.

Slowly, Bruce's eyes opened, and he stared down at the limp form in his hands, cautiously loosening his grip, half expecting the Joker to leap forward as he did so and attack his wife.

But no such thing happened; instead, the Joker's unconscious body splayed easily against the floor as the vigilante let him go, leaning him down on to his back.

Passed out and with all the tension gone from his face, he looked like Jack once more. As the Joker, the scars on his face testified to his heedless nature and dangerous engagements, but now they only served to make him look more a victim; a man who'd endured years of abuse and torture, not least at his own hands. Gone was the physically imposing quality of before, replaced by someone who resembled a limp rag doll.

Bruce looked up, acknowledging his own labored breathing and the tremor running through his body. He saw Jeannie, staring at the Joker, eyes huge and bloodshot as tears pooled in them then dripped down her face. She, too, was shaking; her chest rising and falling, the heart rate monitor beeping louder, more insistently.

Bruce held her in his sights for only a moment longer, before blinking, looking down at the man on the floor.

And he was a man, Bruce realized. Not a monster. He wasn't a monster.

Just a man.

And he needed help.

Flipping him gently over on to his stomach, cradling his head on to its side and resting it against the floor, the vigilante pulled the Joker's thin arms behind him, retrieving a pair of handcuffs from his belt and clamping them over his bony wrists.

Having secured him, Batman lifted the Joker to a sitting position, wrapping his arms beneath the madman's legs and across his back, standing with him, lifting him up easily.

He looked at Jeannie.

"I have to take him back to Arkham," he said quietly.

Her still-glistening eyes snapped up to him from the Joker's limp form. She said nothing.

"Jeanette…" Bruce began, and his eyes fell from her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about all of this."

"What… w-what did you do to him?" she asked, hesitantly.

"… I used chloroform to knock him out. It won't hurt him. But he needed to be put down fast. I didn't have a choice."

She blinked, swallowing thickly, looking back to the Joker.

"Is…" she struggled. "I-is he going to be al… alright?"

Bruce sighed, looking back up to her.

"I don't know. But I hope so."

"Don't… don't let him get hurt Batman," she implored, her eyes moving again to the vigilante. "Please, keep him safe."

"… I'll do my best Jeanette. I'll do my best."


	34. Chapter 34

**New chapter guys. Once more, huge thanks to my beta TheMadCapLaughs. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed last chapter as well. As always, you're hugely appreciated. Please, if you get a chance, leave a review for this one as well. I hope you guys enjoy!**

**Chapter 34:**

Batman had stuck around for as long as possible after handing the Joker back over to the Arkham staff, a group of guards who apparently weren't very happy with the madman having, once again, escaped.

They'd taken the Joker roughly, pulling him along and pushing him forward from behind, and Batman had snapped at them.

"_Don't_!" He'd spit. "Don't do that. It isn't necessary."

The guards had spun around, staring at him, as had the Joker, a look of almost annoyance in his eyes, mixed with the same confusion of the hospital room.

One of the men scoffed.

"Since when do you care how rough with get with clown boy over here? Half the time you bring him in, you've beaten him all to hell…"

Batman's face had set in to a hard scowl, and the guard had quickly shut up.

"Just… _don't_…" He said, his voice low and like gravel.

The same man had mumbled something unintelligible, turning back towards the Joker, the two other men looking at the vigilante a long moment before doing the same.

The Joker had smiled at Batman then, before they'd turned him back around, a small chuckle escaping his lips. But none of it had been with malice, more a kind of astonishment, and the crusader had detected as much.

He and the Joker had spoken, on the ride from Gotham General, back to the asylum. Half-way through the trip, the thin man had recovered from the chloroform. Bruce had been watching him, glancing every few moments from the corner of his eye, as the Joker lay slumped against the car's window, jaw slack.

Again, the vigilante had been struck by how he looked exactly as Jack then, that same, child-like quality. The Joker's will and determination, his over the top, manic energy were what made him such a handful physically, what made him sometimes difficult to subdue. But looking at him then, Bruce had only been able to notice the fragility of him, how thin he was, how vulnerable looking. He thought of all the times he'd beaten the lunatic to within an inch of his life, and it made his heart sink, a kind of terrible guilt washing over him.

It had been hard, Batman knew, to keep from wanting all those years to hurt the Joker, his crimes had always been so horrific, so violent. He reasoned especially when one considered the Joker had calculated for it, intended to elicit exactly that response from the detective. No one knew how to manipulate like the Joker, how to coax a specific reaction, or maneuver them in to certain behavior. If the Joker wanted you to hit him, then you were likely going to hit him. But that was the problem, and Bruce had seen it really clearly for the first time. The Joker _wanted _to be hurt, _needed_ it even, because that was the only true intimacy he knew, a warped kind of affection in his mind, a sign someone actually gave a damn about him. And Bruce, without having really been aware of it, had been encouraging that thought in the Joker all these years, taking the bate and reinforcing in the madman's mind that his continued physical beatings were a sign of caring.

Batman thought perhaps the notion had manifested in the Joker because of what had happened to him at the hands of his father. Because he'd been beaten and abused his whole life by his supposed "caretaker", maybe the Joker thought, subconsciously, that it indeed was a sign of almost… love, when Batman hurt him.

When the Joker had begun to regain consciousness, Bruce had felt himself tense, waiting for what he was sure was an inevitable episode of hysterical anger. He'd hoped the Joker wouldn't go too ballistic, lest he have to pull the car over and put him out again.

But the anger never came.

The Joker's eyes had fluttered open, and for several seconds, he hadn't moved from his slumped position against the window, blinking rapidly as he tried to clear his vision.

A low moan escaped his lips. His head throbbed, the after affects of the chloroform, a slight feeling of nausea. And then, slowly, he'd begun to sit more upright.

Bruce watched him carefully from his periphery, waiting.

But all that happened was, the Joker began to shake his head, his mouth pulled in to a vague frown, forehead creased in worry. His body language spoke of resignation, and he seemed to know immediately what had happened, where he was and where they were headed.

"It's all done Batman." He said, and his voice had been soft, like Jack's. He _sounded _like Jack, and Bruce had wondered for a moment if maybe the shy man hadn't somehow regained control. But then the Joker continued to speak, and he knew it wasn't so.

"Everything, it… it's finished. You and I, if you won't play the game anymore." He continued to speak in almost a whisper, his voice straining, as though close to tears. "Where's the fun all gone?" He asked.

And for the first time, he looked up at the vigilante, and same despondency in his eyes as Bruce had seen at the hospital.

"It isn't there if… if you won't play the game."

For a long moment, Batman hadn't replied, and then he said, gruffly…

"Your kind of fun's best left unsatisfied, Joker."

And the Joker had frowned more deeply at him before abruptly turning away, his head hanging low.

He shifted uncomfortably with his hands cuffed behind his back.

"Then I'm right?" He asked. "You've finished with me?"

"I haven't finished with _you_ Joker." Batman shook his head. "I've finished with this battle of ours. I want to _help_ you."

And there, anger had flared within the madman.

"You as well then?" He'd spit, his voice growing louder. "You and that _woman_! I need no help Batman. When will you finally understand? We… we're above the confines of social mandates, you and I. We're…"

"Enough of that talk Joker." Batman cut him short. "That _woman_ is your wife, and if you really cared nothing for her, then explain your desire to keep seeing her? Explain why, when I told you she'd been attacked, who you _really_ are came to the surface?"

The Joker had turned to him, staring with obvious confusion in his eyes, saying nothing.

And then his brow had furrowed.

"Who I really am?" He asked. His head shook. "What are you talking about? You aren't going to accuse me of presenting myself as something I am not. I may be guilty of a great many things, but hypocrisy is absent among them."

Bruce shook his head in return.

"No Joker, I'm not accusing you of that. You aren't a hypocrite."

"Then what are you talking about? My _real _self? I am as you see me, as you _know_ me."

"The man who you were Joker, before you became what you are, he's still alive inside you. Don't you wonder how it is you wound up in that hospital room, with no recollection of what took place between? You said yourself, the last thing you remember was being in that graveyard."

Again the Joker had glared at him for several, long seconds, silent.

"I black out sometimes. It's something that's always happened to me. No big deal. It isn't any indication of my possessing a split personality."

"You black out Joker, and you don't know what happens then, do you? So how can you say what it's an indication of? And it isn't a _split_ personality. All of the qualities you possess, all of your _talents_ Joker, your intelligence, those things you _brag_ so much about, they all belonged to Jack. You possess his same qualities, he's _you _without the anger, without the malice. He's what you were before you lost your memory and with it your hope."

The Joker had scoffed loudly, turning away.

"I'm nothing like that sniveling brat, that _weakling_. How dare you even make the comparison? There's nothing of him in me!"

Batman had glanced over at the Joker then, his mouth set in a thin line.

"No…" he began. "there's plenty of him left in you. _All_ of him, beneath all of that hatred you carry around. You may have buried your feelings long ago Joker, but they're still there in you, and it's your wife's presence that's bringing them back out. That's why I say I saw who you _really_ are, when the hopelessness dissipates, when you see your life isn't as empty as you make it to be."

The Joker's face had been a mixture of anger and uncharacteristic confusion, frustration lying beneath.

"Why do you keep saying that?" He asked after a moment. "You're lying Bats. You should leave such fair to me, since you're woefully unconvincing at it. So I passed out and you're spinning tall tales. That sorry little boy doesn't exist anymore, though I'm sure you like to tell yourself he does. I crushed him out of existence years ago and he's never coming back, I promise you."

Batman had stepped on the brakes then, putting the car to a halt, and he turned towards the Joker, staring at him hard.

"You're not usually one to deny things about yourself Joker. Not unless it furthers some plan you've woven. But I guess this doesn't count, since you really don't know. Now look at me and tell me, you're exceptional at spotting when someone's lying, aren't you? Its part of what makes you so dangerous, how well you can glean a person's sincerity, their true intentions, what makes them _tick_. Am I _lying_ Joker, or are you just telling yourself that to make yourself feel better?"

The Joker's eyes narrowed, and for a long moment, he stared intently at the vigilante, seeming to scrutinize him. And then slowly his expression fell flat, apparent realization dawning in his features, and he looked away.

For a long while after, the madman had remained silent, Batman continuing their journey back to Arkham, and then, finally, he'd spoken.

"So what now then?" He asked, his voice quiet.

Batman glanced at him from his periphery.

"What becomes of us, you and I? What becomes of us when the games done?" He looked at the crusader with questioning eyes.

"… We start over." Batman had replied. "I try to help you."

The Joker had remained still a long moment, his mouth pulled in to a frown.

"I could make you play." He said. "I could _force_ you to engage me. You _know_ this. You know how easily I could go after those closest to you, and then you wouldn't have a choice."

Batman only shook his head.

"But you wouldn't like that, would you Joker? Having to involve my life outside this, even acknowledging I _have _a life outside this. You've always been so adamant that whatever's behind this mask doesn't matter, that it's meaningless. So going after me then in that life would be like you admitting you were wrong, wouldn't it?"

And in a rare instance, the Joker had huffed, apparently at a loss for what to say. He'd turned away after that, fixing his gaze out the window, remaining silent.

It had taken Bruce a few minutes more before deciding to again speak.

"You know…" he'd started. "you're right. You and I, we do have a connection."

He'd known that would get the Joker's attention. He'd never actually admitted to it, never acknowledged it, though he'd always known deep down he and the lunatic were undeniably drawn to each other in some way. But it wasn't until he'd met Jack… until he'd gotten to speak to him and spend time around him that he realized what that connection _was_. And though he was hesitant to speak of it around the Joker, worried over the madman's obsessive nature, he also knew, if he wanted to help him, he was going to have to start being upfront with him too.

The Joker had turned to him, staring at him with suspicious eyes.

And Batman had continued.

"The man I talked to less then an hour ago, I felt like I'd known him my whole life. I felt like I could talk to him, be _honest _with him about everything, and that he'd understand where I was coming from because he'd been there too. And because he wasn't at all judgmental, wasn't biased or _ruined _by other people, wasn't ruined by conditioning. I felt like he…" Bruce paused. "like he was a friend of mine."

He turned towards the Joker briefly then.

"That's _you_ Joker." He said. "You're that man, when you strip all of the insanity away."

Bruce had waited then for the usual declarations from the Joker, saying he wasn't insane at all, that it was the rest of the world which was mad, denying their true nature.

But it never came.

Instead, the Joker had gazed at him, and in his eyes there had been some heavy kind of emotion, though the vigilante hadn't been able to discern it.

He hadn't said anything after that, not for the remainder of the trip, keeping turned away from Batman, his eyes staring out the passenger side window.

And he'd stayed that way all the way up to them pulling through the front gates of the asylum, through Batman helping him out of the car, walking him to the security, waiting on the front steps.

Bruce had watched as he removed his handcuffs from the Joker's wrists and the guards had taken rough hold of his arms.

He'd followed them in to the entrance, going as deep as the staff would allow, growing more and more angry at the way they handled the lunatic. All he could think of then was Jack, or them handling _Jack_ so unkindly.

Eventually they'd stopped him, right before they'd brought the Joker on to the lift which he knew led to the asylums lower levels, one floor where the showers were located, which they no doubt would have him do before being brought lower still, to the high risk cell block.

And he couldn't help the sinking feeling which then consumed him as he watched the Joker disappear from view, out of his sight.

/

It was just as he'd emerged from the showers and was being half pulled, half pushed by the guards towards a separate lift which led down to the maximum security ward that a fourth guard turned a corner, dragging with him Harley Quinn, who'd apparently just been apprehended and, like him, dropped off at the asylum.

The moment the Joker had laid eyes on her, he felt an eruption of rage, his entire form tensing, teeth grinding together.

She'd remained oblivious.

"Mistah J! Mistha J!" She shouted.

"What the hell man!" One of the guards fumed. "She ain't supposed to be here! Not now!"

The Joker could feel their grips along his arms tighten, and the man holding Harley tried pulling her back.

"I didn't know you were movin' him!" He tried to defend.

And the panic in all their voices was apparent.

"Mistah J, I did it!" Harley paid the guards no mind, continuing to speak to the Joker. "I sliced the bitches' throat! Now it's just you and me again babe! No more annoyin' wife! Is… isn't that great? Just you and me!"

"Shut her fuckin' mouth!" One of the men spit, feeling the tension building in the Joker's frame.

They were growing incredibly nervous.

"That's enough!" The guard escorting her reprimanded. "No talking! You know the damn rules!"

But it was too late. The instant he'd seen her, the Joker had determined to lay hands on her, and he was already moving.

He twisted madly, tearing his right arm from the grip of one of the men, and in a second, he'd whirled on the other, laying in to their face with a curled fist, and then again, until the guard had let go. He didn't hesitate, turning toward the other, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around the man's jaw, digging down hard.

The guard cried out as pain flared in his jowls, and the third man attacked, tearing his billy from his belt and smashing it down, across the back of the Joker's skull.

Shock enveloped his features then as the Joker stumbled forward but remained standing, and he stood, momentarily unable to move.

The madman seemed wholly unaffected, pushing the guard he had hold of backwards, against a wall before kneeing him hard in the groin, dropping him instantly.

And then he'd turned on the two remaining, launching himself at them with abandon, and the two of them had stumbled away, their eyes growing wide with fear.

The Joker was on the one nearest to him within seconds, ducking under a clumsy swing of the man's club before latching his hands to either side of his head and driving his face down in to an upward thrusting knee, crushing the guard's nose and letting him slip unceremoniously to the floor.

"N-no!" The third guard cried, stepping away, his legs nearly buckling beneath him, and before he had even a chance to register the movement, the Joker was on him too, easily avoiding the man's attempt to clock him with his nightstick, ramming him back in to the opposite wall, smashing his head backwards, and then again, and again, until the guard had been knocked cold.

"Yeah! You go puddin'!" Harley yelled in excitement, her mouth stretched in to a grin since the Joker had begun. Her eyes shined in reverie.

And the Joker turned towards her, staring with hard eyes.

The one remaining guard stepped back, still holding to Harley's arm.

"Y-you keep away!" He stammered, his voice shaking.

"Shuddup!" Harley hissed, whirling around and slamming her forehead in to the guards face. Instantly he lost his grip on her, stumbling backwards, and she took the moment to finish the job, elbowing him across the temple, putting him out.

"So are we escapin' Mistha J?" She started, turning to face the Joker.

Her eyes went wide when she saw he was only inches from her, and before she could react, he'd reached out, burying one, long hand in to her hair, the other wrapping around her throat.

He jerked her forward, twisting her around and slamming her back against a wall.

His face was twisted in fury, his eyes burning, a loud squeak escaping her lips as she stared up at him, her jaw hung open in shock.

"You _stupid_ little _twit_!" He spit, his voice low.

Harley sputtered and choked out as the grip around her neck tightened, threatening her air supply.

And the Joker leaned in closer to her, his nails now digging in to her scalp.

"I should _end_ you. I should end you right _here_. You _pathetic_, insufferable _dullard_! How many times… how many _times_ have I had to explain to you _never_ to involve yourself in my personal affairs? You disgusting wretch!"

Tears had sprung fast to Harley's eyes, streaming down her flushed cheeks and she grasped weakly at the Joker's hands, trying in vain to make him loosen his grip.

"I… I-I th-thought you'd be h-happy Mistah g-J, I th-thought it was w-what you w-w-wanted…"

His grip only strengthened, and she gagged, her eyes clamping tight.

"Yes, well…" he went on. "The process of _thought _hasn't ever really been your strong suit, now has it darling?" He asked, his voice nearly a whisper. "To _assume_ is a dangerous game. To assume with _me_ though, that may prove lethal."

His grasp around her throat tightened fully, and now she was choking, unable to breathe.

"You fail to comprehend, you sorry child! You always have! You've never understood! Never understood me, or the world, never understood _anything_! Not such a surprise, really. How could anyone expect such a woefully underdeveloped intellect to grasp concepts even the least bit sophisticated in nature?"

All the Joker could see was Jeannie, lying in that hospital bed, the bloody gauze covering her slashed throat, oxygen mask over her face. And all he could feel then was the unfamiliar sensation of panic he'd had at her appearance, the _dread_, now mixed with his overwhelming rage at the person to have caused it all.

He wanted to _kill_ Harley. To snuff out her sorry, meaningless life. To watch as her eyes rolled back in her head and her face turned ice blue. To feel the resistance go from her body, watch as her struggling limbs fell limp, feel the energy drain from her form.

He wanted it so much, more then he ever had before. He could _taste_ it, the way it would feel as the life went from her, the way he knew he could feel it in his hands.

He bored in to her, his eyes focused furiously on her face.

And then, all at once, all of the rage he felt, all of the hate… vanished, and in its place he felt fear… he felt shame. All he could see suddenly was Jeannie, not Harley, he saw his… his wife. All these years he'd seen her and he'd never known who she was.

He saw his hand around _her_ throat, choking the life from her. Saw her desperate and pleading expression, her strained features, felt her hands clawing uselessly at his own, trying in vain to make him let go.

And then he could hear her, hear her _condemnation_. Her accusatory eyes, her disgust, her _repulsion_ at what he was, what he was doing…

His hands suddenly loosened, and he blinked, shaking his head as if in a daze, stepping back.

Harley nearly collapsed, bending over and gasping sharply, trying in a panic to get the air back to her lungs as she coughed and sputtered.

The Joker watched her, his face a mask of confusion. And then he brought his hands up, staring at them with the same sort of puzzlement, like he couldn't figure out what he'd just done, what had just happened.

Eventually Harley began to recover herself, still doubled over but straightening somewhat, glancing up at the Joker with wide and terrified eyes.

It didn't escape her, the bemused, almost stunned look on his face.

Her brow furrowed.

"M… Mistah J?" She began tentatively. "A… are you ok-kay?"

His eyes moved up to her face, and he seemed right then to be snapped from some sort of trance.

Abruptly his face twisted in to a scowl.

Harley recognized the look and immediately she shrank down.

"M-Mistah g-g-J?"

And without further warning, he spit, right in her face.

She fell back in shock, her shaking hands coming up inadvertently to her face, wiping the saliva from it.

The Joker didn't watch her a moment more, turning and stumbling away, aimless down the corridor.

He didn't even really hear as the doors behind burst open and a rush of fifteen guards came crashing through. Didn't hear as Harley cried out, her being taken down quickly. Didn't hear the fast approaching footfalls at his back…

He was whacked hard across the skull with a billy, and this time he fell, crashing to his knees.

An instant later and he was being pushed violently to his stomach, arms yanked forcefully behind his back.

Someone pressed a foot to the back of his neck, a nightstick being jammed roughly in between his shoulder blades.

"Piece of shit." One of them spit. "Thought you were just gonna bust outta here again?"

But the Joker wasn't listening, his mind far away now, far in to a past he now knew was real, which he wished desperately wasn't…

Which he desperately wished he still had…

"Stupid freak."

A boot sank deep in to his side, nearly turning him over. And then another.

And the Joker was silent, saying not a word, making no sound, until finally they dragged him up, and pushed him forward.

They would slam their billy's in to him three times more, dropping him just as many, before they finally made it to his cell.

But the Joker never even acknowledged that it had happened.

Not even once.


	35. Chapter 35

**Hey guys. New chapter! I'm sorry for the delay. I've been a little busy the last week. But anyway, hope you enjoy and please remember to leave a review if you can. Thanks to everyone to read and reviewed last chapter too!**

**Chapter 35:**

He awoke with a start, sweat heavy along his forehead, his clothes damp, a gasp tearing from his lips as he shot upright, eyes wide, heart thrumming wildly in his chest, pounding in his ears.

Where was he? Where…? What had…?

The room was dim lit, a dull, yellowed light barely illuminating the space from a single bulb, some thirteen feet above him.

In a dazed panic his eyes searched frantically around the room, and quickly he noticed the cold, concrete walls and grey floor, the barren surroundings, nothing but a toilet and sink, both of which looked to have not been cleaned in weeks, and the stiff cot beneath him, dirty, white sheets, turned almost brown in their filth, darker stains in patterned splotches, dotted randomly along.

Blood.

He recognized blood, dried blood… from all those times… when he'd had his face crushed in by his father's fist… and he'd bled from the nose, the mouth, it dripping on to his shirt, his pants…

He was… he was back here? Oh God, how did he…?

His mind raced, trying desperately to remember, to _think_.

He'd been with Jeannie, at the hospital. He'd been with her, hadn't he? And she'd… she'd been okay, she'd been okay…

He remembered Batman, and his… his home… his cave, and all of the things he had, all of those fancy costumes and computers and gadgets…

He'd been nice… Batman had been nice… he'd been kind…

Not a monster, like he looked…

Batman had been kind to him…

Jack leaned forward, placing his face in his hands.

His heart still beat hard, his breath labored.

Oh God, how had he gotten back here? He couldn't remember.

He'd been with Jeannie, he'd been with her, holding her hand… her hand on his face…

Had it all been a dream? Had he just imagined the whole thing?

But it had been so _vivid_, so _real_. He didn't think he'd dreamed it, he didn't think…

He didn't _know_. He couldn't remember.

He didn't trust his own mind anymore.

And there was something else… something less definite, just at his minds periphery, murky and vague.

His hands moved to his head, fingers digging in to his scalp, eyes squeezing tight as the images flashed before him, violent and twisted…

The hospital room, the one Jeannie had been in, he could see it again, but it wasn't the same, wasn't as sure. He'd… he'd…

No! No, no, no… that was a dream. It _had_ to be a dream! Jeannie's wide and terrified eyes, looking at him, up at him as she pushed back in her bed, hands coming up, trying to shield herself, like he… like he was going to hit her, attack her…

His head shook, fingers digging harder, painfully now.

He wouldn't! He wouldn't ever! He'd die first, kill himself before ever laying a finger on her.

He could hear a voice… screaming, filled with anger… with hate… screaming at her…

And it sounded so very much like his own.

"No…" he whimpered softly. "No, I wouldn't…"

Tears sprung to the backs of his eyes, filling them quickly and pushing past the lids, sliding down his face.

He would _never_ hurt Jeannie. He _wouldn't_. If there was anything he knew, it was that.

… At least… at least, he hadn't ever meant to… he hadn't wanted to.

His father's words broke loudly in his ears.

"_You're gonna ruin that girls life Jackie, just like you ruin everything. You don't do nothin' but make people miserable_! _Last thing she needs is a worthless loser like you, weighin' her down, keepin' her from life's nice things_."

He choked out, a strangled sob pushing past his lips.

He hadn't meant to, oh God, he hadn't…

Why could he see her face, so scared, so afraid as she looked back at him? Why could he hear his own voice, so much harsher, louder… so _mean_, telling her, telling her.

"_This is _your_ fault! _Your_ doing_!"

It couldn't have been real. It… it had to be a dream, a nightmare.

Just like everything else, all those faded pictures and sounds. Violence and motion, people screaming, crying, faces contorted, twisted in fear, in horror. Eyes huge with shock, blood covering everything. Covering them, covering the ground, the walls… covering him, his hands.

He would look down and see them, dripping red and thick, pouring off, slow and unending… And in his ears he could hear laughter, ringing loud, filled with something terrible, something beyond cruelty, beyond anger or hate…

Something more powerful…

More frightening…

Indifference.

Where was it coming from? Where was _any _of this coming from? These dreams, these nightmares, images in his eyes, in his eyes… death and destruction and… and

He didn't understand.

The world wasn't like this… it wasn't…

He knew because the world had Jeannie.

But this place, this terrible, terrible place…

Being here was like suffocating. Despair spread through his insides, choking out any hope he might once have had, and he felt small, alone… so, so alone. Like he was screaming for someone, anyone, but answered back only by the echo of his own voice. Nobody heard, nobody cared… not in this place.

And it was like with his father. He was trapped here. The same as he'd been trapped there, with him.

No way out.

He'd had freedom once, once in his life… with Jeannie.

More tears came to his eyes as again he heard his father's voice, telling him he couldn't make it, that he wouldn't ever be able to take care of himself. That he'd always need someone to do it for him. And he thought, like everything his father told him about himself, it was true.

Out there, out there on his own, and he'd ruined everything.

His father had always told him he kept him locked in to protect him, told him it was for his own good. That if was allowed out, if he was exposed to people, to the world, it would be very bad.

"_You'd just get in to all kinds of trouble Jack. You think there ain't people out there who'd spot what a dumb shit you are? They'd spot it Jackie-boy. They'd spot it in a second flat. And then you'll have had it kiddo. They'll come at you hard, and you're so damn stupid, you won't even know it 'till it's too late_."

God, he'd been right.

He didn't remember what had happened, how he'd ended up here, but maybe it had been what his father said, that someone had had him committed… because he couldn't take care of himself.

Maybe Jeannie…

She'd told him he was in here to get better, that that was the reason.

But he didn't… he didn't feel sick… and no one… no one in here had helped him… he didn't think… Everyone had been so mean.

Maybe he just didn't understand… like with so many things, maybe he was too stupid.

A loud beep drew his attention, looking up with frightened eyes as he heard the door to his cell being pulled open.

He pushed back on the cot, pressing himself in to the corner, his breath at once becoming erratic, his chest rising and falling more rapidly.

A large man entered, dressed in the same uniform as the men who'd beaten him up, white shirt and white pants, black shoes. Jack's eyes immediately fell to the thick plastic club, resting at the man's hip, and his anxiety worsened.

Carefully, the man closed the door behind him before turning, his eyes resting on Jack.

The orderly, his name Tom, had just started working there in the last two weeks, though he'd had a great deal of experience, working in other high security mental hospitals. They'd assigned him the duty of transferring the Joker to and from his morning therapy session today. Normally there would be at least three men to handle the task, but there'd been a bug going around, and a bunch of guys had called in sick, leaving the asylum badly understaffed.

The Joker hadn't received any psychiatric treatment for the last, several months, the hospital unable to secure a suitable replacement for his last doctor until now.

Tom's eyes regarded the patient intently.

He'd heard plenty of stories about him, heard plenty of things. He wasn't fool enough to think the Joker was anything less then lethal. But looking at him now, as he pushed himself in to the room's corner, knees brought up to his chest, eyes wide as he stared back, Tom couldn't help feeling kind of sorry for him.

This was the first time he'd seen the Joker in person, and the orderly noted, with a mild bit of shock, that more then anything, he gave the impression of a little boy.

He was incredibly thin, _small_ even, despite his obvious height. He didn't look very strong, which, Tom supposed, was what gave so many of his cretin-like co-workers the idea they could easily man-handle him. But Tom knew better then that. Strength was only a single factor in determining the outcome of a physical confrontation. Will, determination, that was something much more important, and from everything the orderly had heard, the Joker's determination was absolute.

Tom was taken aback though as he continued for several, long seconds to watch the Joker, and realized, with almost disbelief, the look of pure terror on his face, saw he was trembling visibly, noticed then the tear tracks, running down his cheeks, his eyes still wet.

Tom's brow furrowed.

This was… strange. He'd heard from the other orderlies that the Joker had been acting unlike himself lately. But really, what did that even mean? The Joker's behavior was at _best_ unpredictable.

But this… this definitely didn't seem to fit.

It crossed his mind that the Joker might be trying to play some sort of game, trying to trick him, get him to let his guard down or something like that. But, for whatever reason, he didn't at all get that feeling now.

He stepped closer, hand resting at his hip, fingers brushing against his nightstick, making certain it was there, his other hand touching the set of handcuffs, hanging from his belt loop.

He halted when he saw the Joker press himself back further, though there really was no where to go.

The orderly frowned.

Something wasn't right.

Tom knew a lot of guys went in to this line of work because it didn't require any sort of degree, the pay was usually pretty high and intelligence wasn't exactly a necessity. He also knew a lot of guys got their kicks off beating the shit out of mental patients who couldn't defend themselves. Nothing made him more sick.

Tom had gotten in to this line of work because he wanted to _help _these people, clichéd as that sounded.

Tom had a younger brother who was mentally ill, and because of that, he knew only too well the devastating affects that living with a psychological disability had on those who did. It wasn't a _game_, wasn't some kind of joke. These people were _suffering_, especially those who'd been committed to places like this, people so consumed by sickness that they couldn't at all operate on the outside, not in any normal capacity anyway.

Guys who got a thrill from hurting mental patients, Tom thought, were a whole hell of a lot worse then even the most violent cases in here. That included the Joker. Because guys like that, they weren't sick, they weren't suffering. They didn't have trouble with reality, with knowing what was real. They weren't _confused_. They were just sadistic, and in mental patients they saw an easy target to play those sadistic tendencies out on.

The Joker may have been extremely dangerous, may have been horrifyingly violent, but he was _still _mentally ill, and people seemed to forget it was that mental illness that caused him to be so dangerous in the first place. Someone like that, the last thing they needed was to be met with _more_ violence. All that did was cause them to lash out.

Again Tom took a step forward, cautious, and now the Joker seemed to lose it.

He threw himself to his right, like he was going to launch himself off the bed. But when he saw it didn't give him a clear path past the orderly, he again pushed back, pressing himself in to the corner, like some terrified animal, eyes darting frantically about before finally he simply curled in on himself, arms coming up over his head, knees pulled up to his chest, as though trying to shield himself from some incoming blow.

A barely audible whimper pushed past his lips, and Tom stopped dead.

This was fucked up.

What the hell had they done to this man?

"Listen…" he began, trying to keep his voice soft. "I'm just here to bring you to see your new doctor."

But the Joker hadn't seemed to hear him, his entire form shaking terribly now.

"Please…" he begged quietly.

Tom licked his lips.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said, stepping closer still.

He wasn't stupid. He knew this might be some sort of ruse. The Joker was well known for just that sort of thing, after all, and he had his hand at his billy, just in case he suddenly attacked. But something about this entire situation struck the orderly as being very much _real_.

"Hey…" he started gently. "I'm not gonna hurt you. Okay?"

He stepped closer and the Joker curled tighter in on himself.

Slowly, Tom reached out.

He was nervous, scared even, but he pressed on. He had to do his job.

For a brief moment, he paused, fingers just inches from the Joker arm. He swallowed thickly, watching the thin man's trembling form, refusing to look up.

It was now or never he supposed.

And without further thought, he reached out, fingers grasping gently around the patients wrist.

An actual sob tore from the Joker's throat, broken and terrified, his entire frame seeming to go limp.

That wasn't the reaction Tom had been suspecting, and suddenly he felt his heart sink.

"Hey, hey, hey…" he started, reaching his other hand out now, placing it on the Joker's shoulder. "Calm down, alright? I'm not going to hurt you. I just have to take you to see your new doctor."

Jack shook his head, fresh tears pushing past his lids as his eyes squeezed shut.

Doctor?

He didn't understand.

What did… what did this man want?

Was he going to beat him up too? Like those other men who looked the same?

"Please…" he again pleaded. "Please, d-don't…"

Tom's brow furrowed.

He was beginning to get the sense of something being very wrong here.

"It's alright. It's alright. Just calm down." He said. And he began to lift the thin man up, off the cot. He weighed hardly anything, Tom noticed. And he hung so slack in his hands the orderly realized, if he hadn't been holding on to him, he would have collapsed back down.

Jack's own hands came up against the man's chest, his head turned away, eyes shut. The orderly could feel him pressing, as though trying to push away. The action was weak, ineffective.

"Please…" he whispered. "don't…"

Tom's grip held firmly.

The Joker was taller then him, but he was slumping so much now that his head was practically on Tom's chest.

The orderly looked down at him, frowning deeply, hands gripping tight under the Joker's arms, having to hold him up as he continued to shake. And again he was struck by how _incredibly_ the thin man resembled a child.

"You're not quite the monster they make you out to be, are you?" He asked without really thinking.

Jack blinked, more tears falling down his face.

He didn't respond.

For nearly a minute, the two of them just stood there, Tom holding on to him.

He watched the tears slipping down the Joker's face in shocked fascination.

He'd expected to see a lot of abnormal behavior when he first was hired to work here, but nothing like this.

The Joker wasn't exactly known for these sorts of emotional displays. You heard talk of his cold as ice demeanor, speaking in a soft voice, articulate and sophisticated, seemingly sane while pontificating insane notions, or simple bouts of hysteria, over the top episodes of boundless energy and extreme violence. Those times when he seemed as mad as they said he was.

Tom had never heard stories of the Joker crying, not like this.

It made him feel unsure of how to respond. He wasn't really qualified to deal with this sort of thing, and he then thought it best to get the Joker to his therapy session. If there was any time he seemed to need it, it was now.

"Come on…" he started, moving his grip to the Joker's forearms, taking hold of his hands and pulling them down. "Just sit down here a second. I've got to get these on you."

He lowered the Joker down, on to the cot, bending down so he was crouched in front of him, reaching for his handcuffs.

Jack watched him, his anxiety failing to dissipate, only rising as the orderly took hold of the restraints, undoing the wrist loops.

Jack's arms came up, wrapping round himself.

"A… are you going to hurt me?" He asked quietly, eyes casting down.

A million thoughts ran through his mind, possibilities on what this man might do to him, what his intention was.

Tom's head shook, the frown returning.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He repeated. "But I have to put these on you." He held the cuffs up for the Joker to see. "It's hospital policy, for whenever we move you guys. Okay? It's just a precaution."

Jack said nothing, his eyes flitting up briefly to look at the restraints before shifting back down.

He didn't move.

Tom had no idea what to make of this. In the footage he'd seen of the Joker on television, he'd always seemed incredibly _sure_ of himself, very confident and in your face. The last word anyone would think to use in describing him would be _shy_, or _timid_. But right now, that's exactly the impression he was giving. He seemed _scared_ even. Legitimately so.

Tom sighed, reaching a hand out slowly. Softly he touched his fingers to the Joker's wrist, curling them loosely around and giving him a slight tug.

The Joker only seemed to curl tighter in on himself.

"It's okay." Tom reassured. "I just have to put these on your wrists. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

Again he grasped the Joker's wrist, and this time the thin man didn't resist as Tom pull his arms away from his body.

As gently as he could, the orderly began to snap the cuffs over the bony wrists, being careful not to hurt him.

He knew it was illogical, that the cuffs were simply a necessary precaution, given the Joker's history. But Tom couldn't keep himself from feeling bad about having to put them on. It felt somehow… wrong. Like the man he was restraining was the furthest thing from dangerous, and to do this to him was just cruel.

Tom shook his head, trying to push the thoughts from his mind. It was absurd, he knew. Most guys in this place didn't even want to get anywhere close to the Joker, he was considered so deadly. And anyway, he was probably just faking it, acting purposefully upset to see what kind of reaction he could garner.

It was just… something about the way he looked… the way he sounded…

Tom was good at spotting when someone was bullshitting.

This didn't look like bullshitting to him.

Jack continued to keep his eyes down, staying quiet.

When the orderly had finally secured the cuffs, he let go Jack's wrists, bringing his eyes up to him and smiling faintly.

"There you go." He said. "Not so bad, right?"

Jack's hands had come down, resting in his lap, and he stared at the metal cuffs, linking them together.

He didn't reply.

He was so lost. He didn't… didn't know what any of this was, what was happening anymore… who… who these people were.

Tom's smile faded, seeing the confusion on the Joker's face.

He stood.

"Come on…" he started, reaching out and taking hold the thin man's arm. "We've gotta get you to your session."

"… Why am I here?"

Tom froze at the sound of the Joker's voice, barely audible.

"D… do you know why I'm here?"

Jack glanced up at the orderly, eyes wide with questioning, unsure and afraid.

Tom looked back, licking his lips.

He studied the Joker's face, his expression, trying to determine if he was actually serious.

He knew the Joker didn't really grasp concepts of right and wrong, that he couldn't really differentiate between the two. He'd heard because the Joker couldn't accept those sorts of things as real, or something like that. Like his mind really couldn't even consider such a thing as existing, and that's why he'd been ruled mentally incompetent to stand trial.

But still, from everything the orderly had heard, the Joker was well aware of _what_ he did, he was aware of his actions, and that it was his actions that landed him in here. Even if he couldn't understand why people said what he did was wrong, he still knew people said it was wrong, and that was why he was locked up.

But looking at him now, Tom could see the question wasn't rhetorical, he wasn't being sarcastic or funny. He was asking for _real_, like he truly didn't _know_.

And, the thing to strike the orderly most in that moment, wasn't how strange that was, but how horrific it would be, to be locked up in this place, trapped and kept here without knowing _why_. Without being aware of the reason.

Tom thought it would be absolutely _terrifying_.

"Well, uh…" the orderly looked down, fidgeting with his belt, unsure of what to say. He glanced up again and still the Joker was looking at him, desperation etched across his face.

"Uh, that… that's probably something you should talk about with your doctor. I'm sure he… he could explain it better then me."

Jack blinked, looking up at the man a moment longer before gazing away, his head lowering.

He looked defeated, Tom thought.

"… No one tells me…" he whispered.

The orderly's brow furrowed, and again, his eyes cast down.

He knew it was unusual, to in some way want to help this man, but there it was.

He supposed if the Joker wasn't acting so out of sorts, if he was behaving in his usual, crass manner, he might feel differently. Or not. He didn't wish ill on any of the patients here. Because he understood they were patients, not prisoners. They all needed help.

"Listen, we've gotta get you to your session." He started, once more reaching out and taking the Joker by the arm. He gave him a tug, indicating he wanted him to stand.

Jack didn't move, still fearful of the man's intentions. He wanted to trust him, felt even like he could, but he'd long since come to realize his own judgment was far from reliable.

Tom reached out with his other hand, taking hold now of the Joker with both.

"Come on." He said, lifting the thin man up easily.

And Tom continued to hold on to the Joker's arm as he walked him quietly to the door.

Jack said nothing, allowing himself to be led, his eyes trained to the floor.

"Your doctor will help you." The orderly went on as he pushed the door open. "Don't worry."

And still Jack said nothing, only moving as he was pulled gently along, out of the cell and down the corridor, to wherever this man would lead him.

/

"Did he give you any trouble?" Dr. Richardson asked, looking up from his desk as the Joker was brought to the single chair, sat about eight feet back.

Tom shook his head.

"No Sir. No trouble at all. He…" he paused, clearing his throat. "He's been on good behavior."

Dr. Richardson nodded, looking at the Joker, noting he stood with his head down, his entire form in fact hunched, defensive.

"Well that's good." He gave a nod, indicating he wanted the patient to be sat, and the orderly complied, gently pushing down on the Joker's shoulders to let him know.

Jack didn't resist.

His eyes glanced up briefly to look at the doctor before they moved back down.

The man was older, probably in his 60s, well groomed and put together. His hair was grey and cut relatively short, eyes brown, and warm. He looked friendly. He wore a pair of reading glasses, and Jack thought how it always seemed like that, how it always seemed doctors wore glasses.

"Thank you Mr. Daranger." The psychiatrist said once the Joker had taken the chair. "You may step outside now."

Tom gave a nod, looking down one last time at the Joker before turning, disappearing through the door.

Jack didn't move, his eyes focused on his shackled hands.

The room was a small one, and sparsely furnished, with only the desk the doctor sat at, the chair, and a three shelved bookcase, sat in the upper right-hand corner, lined with books. There was a houseplant, situated on the sill of a window, behind the doctor and to his right. The window was closed, lock in place. Overhead was track lighting, illuminating the area well. The floor was a rouge carpet, decidedly different from the tile and concrete floors of the rest of the place.

Jack noticed all these things when he'd been brought in, seen it all on his first look around, before he'd fixed his gaze down.

His discomfort grew as he felt the older man's eyes on him, and his head bowed lower. He wished he could be away from here. He wished Jeannie would come and take him away, that they could just be together again, back in their apartment, the two of them.

That was all he wanted.

"Good morning Joker." Dr. Richardson began. "How are you feeling?"

Jack glanced up at him.

There was that _name_ again. Joker. Why did everyone keep _calling _him that? He didn't know, didn't know what any of this was.

His eyes again shifted down.

He didn't reply.

The doctor studied him a moment, eyes narrowed.

He'd agreed to take on the Joker as a patient after the board had practically begged him, offering him a 10% pay increase and even more vacation time, though he hadn't been hugely interested in that. Dr. Richard's work meant nearly everything to him.

The Joker hadn't been receiving psychiatric treatment for a little over half a year now, and the board of directors were growing increasingly nervous of word getting out. It was a state issued mandate that all patients at this facility received, in the least, twice weekly therapy sessions, lasting an hour each.

But the Joker had driven his last doctor in to retirement, Dr. Thomson stating that, after having spoken with the Joker for the better part of two months, he no longer saw value in the practice of psychiatry, and had promptly stepped down.

Two months after that, word was received that Dr. Thomson had been committed to a minimum security mental hospital, up in Connecticut, his family citing "odd and unhealthy behavior" as the reason for their decision. Nothing more on it had been said, but everyone knew it had been the Joker's doing.

Dr. Richardson had been working at Arkham Asylum for 22 years. He remembered the first day the Joker had been committed to the hospital.

He'd been transferred from Blackgate Penitentiary, following a bizarre and violent outburst.

Apparently, during the previous days lunch hour, while standing in the food line, the Joker had out of no where just snapped, unprovoked, shattering his plastic trey across the back of another inmates head and then using the broken and jagged pieces to attack several others.

By the time the guards had been able to pull him off, the Joker had killed three men and severely injured half a dozen more.

That's when they knew they were dealing with a mentally unstable individual, and he'd been deemed too dangerous for regular prison, and brought here.

Dr. Richardson remembered watching, along with a group of other asylum employees, most of whom were no longer there, as the Joker was brought in, heavily shackled.

He'd been laughing maniacally, clearly undisturbed by his new surroundings. Every person he'd past, he'd made eye contact with, speaking to them. Most had turned away, frightened by his appearance, and by the words he uttered.

Dr. Richardson still heard clearly the words the Joker had sent _his_ way.

"_Married to your work, huh Doc? You should best stay clear of me then, if you wish for your career to continue_."

After that, Dr. Richardson had done everything within his power to _avoid_ being assigned the Joker's psychiatrist.

To this day, he still didn't know how the lunatic had gleaned such information. They'd never met before that day, and they'd never spoken.

He supposed it could have just been a lucky guess, just a random, shot in the dark comment. But something about the _way_ the Joker had said it, and the look he'd given to him when he did, Dr. Richardson knew the Joker was seeing in to him, was looking right _through _him. The Joker knew things about him, personal things, things you couldn't find out by looking up a file. And he knew them without ever having spoken to him.

And that had been enough to heed the madman's warning.

He had kept away.

Until now. Until he started hearing things, hearing talk of the Joker having a wife, of her returning, of how she'd been coming around, and it wasn't a ruse. The Joker had been allowing the visits, _wanting_ to see her, and since that time, there'd been reports of him displaying behavior radically different from anything previously seen with him. Acting almost wholly like a different person.

That in itself didn't seem so unusual. Given the Joker's extreme psychosis, his personality often took dramatic shifts.

But the doctor had heard reports of the Joker acting confused, not seeming to know where he was or even _who_ he was. He'd told severely people that he didn't belong here, that he didn't know how he'd gotten here or why. That hadn't ever been a part of his personality shifts. No matter how radically his behavior changed, he still always knew who he was, and had detailed recollection of his past deeds.

The abnormality of it had been enough to pique Dr. Richardson's interest, and when the board had come begging to him, he'd at last given in, after so many years of resistance.

The Joker had always fascinated him completely. And he'd have been lying if he said he never had any interest in treating him.

He had.

It had been fear which kept him back.

Seeing how the Joker systematically and routinely seemed to _destroy_ his doctors, both personally and professionally over the years, had only strengthened the psychiatrists resolve.

But stories of the Joker crying, showing immense fear and confusion, of his acting shy, even timid, meek, had caught Dr. Richardson's attention.

And now here he was, sat across from Arkham's most infamous patient, and already he could see something drastically different in the madman's demeanor.

Unless the Joker was the greatest actor in the history of ever, which _some_ people claimed he was, the psychiatrist didn't think what he was looking at was anything less then genuine.

He cleared his throat, hands spreading out over the Joker's open case file.

The thing was thick, several hundred pages, heavy with notes and observations from previous doctors, their futile attempts at diagnosing the patient as suffering from anything concrete, unable to pin him down in to any, set category. He seemed to exhibit signs of _every_ known mental disability, anti-social personality disorder, disassosiateive personality disorder, schizophrenia, bi-polar disorder, manic-depression, etc… You named it, the Joker seemed to have it. But it would change, seemingly from day to day. Hour to hour even. What behavior the Joker displayed one day might be entirely absent the next, replaced instead by a completely different and even contradictory mental disorder.

The file also contained a number of tests, visual, audio; tests to gauge his emotional state, posing hypothetical questions, what if scenarios asking what he would do under a particular circumstance. Some of the Joker's answers on these tests had alone been enough to drive his then psychiatrists to quit.

And there were intelligence equivalency tests.

Those had in particular caught Dr. Richardson's eye.

The Joker had been administered any number of different IQ tests over the years, and on all of them had he never scored lower then 190, others he'd scored all the way up past 200.

He was clearly brilliant. Gifted, as they called anyone to score above 170.

As he'd been going over these tests, Dr. Richardson had been struck by a sense of sadness, with the realization that such an astonishing mind had also to be riddled by mental illness, the Joker's genius intellect being, more or less, negated by the fact of how sick he was.

Such incredible intelligence could have been used to contribute something significant to the world, something wonderful. And instead it was being wasted, as the Joker was locked up here, thought of as nothing more then a freak and an abomination by the public at large. A reputation not entirely unwarranted, given the Joker's many atrocities, his crimes beyond what one could even call horrific.

Still, Dr. Richardson knew the label was one born in ignorance.

The Joker was mentally ill, he was a mental _patient_, and more then punishment, he was in need of treatment.

"You've probably been told already…" he began when it became clear he wasn't going to be given an answer. "I've been assigned as your new doctor. I understand you haven't received any sessions in quite a few months."

Jack could feel himself shaking, tremors caused by his incredible unease, by the suffocating confusion gripping his mind.

Months? As far as he knew, he'd only been here a few weeks, maybe. But even that he wasn't sure of, huge blocks of memory gone to him.

He remained silent, unsure of what to say.

Oh God, he wished Jeannie was here.

Dr. Richardson's brow furrowed as he watched the Joker, noting his trembling limbs.

"Are you feeling alright?" He asked. "Do you feel sick?"

Jack didn't even know who this man was, didn't know his name, and he felt too afraid to ask.

His head turned slightly to the side, his hands curling tight in his lap.

He wished he could close his eyes and wish this all away. That when he opened them again he could be back in the apartment, sitting on the couch with Jeannie, holding her against him.

His eyes closed and he could envision it, the image vivid, like a moving picture in his mind. He could see Jeannie, and himself, sitting together, his arms wrapped around her. He could see her laughing, could hear it. Her voice like a bell. He could see her hands coming back, finding his hair and burying themselves in it, massaging his scalp gently. And he could feel it now, the sensation soothing, relaxing.

It was all he wanted, just to be with her, that was all.

"Joker?"

His eyes opened, the images shattering.

He glanced up, and the older man was staring at him, a look of concern across his features, chin rested against his palm.

Quickly Jack looked away again.

"If you're not feeling up to talking today, that's fine. I'll have Mr. Daranger escort you back to your cell."

At this, Jack's eyes grew larger and he looked up.

"N-no, please, I… I don't want t… to go back there."

Dr. Richardson rubbed at his chin.

He'd never heard the Joker sound like this before.

"Okay." He said calmly. "That's fine. You don't have to. We have an hour. Do you maybe want to talk about what's on your mind? You seem fairly distracted."

"M… my mind?" Jack questioned, unsure of what that meant.

The psychiatrist nodded.

"Yes, tell me what you're thinking about."

Jack blinked, his gaze casting away again.

"I… I'm scared." He practically whispered.

And Dr. Richardson's brows shot up.

Now that _definitely _didn't sound like the Joker.

"Scared?" He asked. "Of what?"

Jack shrank down in his seat.

His father had always told him to never admit when he was afraid, but he… he didn't know what else to do. He was in a place he knew nothing about, surrounded by people he'd never met…

He stared down at his hands, and suddenly he remembered looking at himself in a mirror, seeing his appearance for the first time. The bizarre, uniform white of his skin, his green hair and dark colored lips, and the horrible scarring, all over his face and body…

He didn't know what had happened, where all of it had come from.

He was so lost.

"I… I w-want to go home." He said.

"Home?" Dr. Richardson leaned forward slightly.

This was becoming interesting, if not a bit perplexing.

Jack nodded, not looking up.

"I wasn't aware you had a place you call home Joker." The doctor continued. "Someplace other then here you mean?"

"J-Jack."

"Excuse me?" Dr. Richardson asked.

"M… my name is Jack." Jack said softly, still looking down.

The psychiatrist couldn't keep the look of shock from his face.

"I'm sorry, you said… you said your name is _Jack_?"

Jack nodded.

Dr. Richardson didn't believe it.

There was no way the Joker would just _tell _him his real name within the first few minutes of their first session together, when he hadn't even _tried_ to glean it.

He continued to rub his chin.

But then… he hadn't read in any of the other doctor's notes about the Joker giving any name other then his known alias. Not ever. He always insisted he be referred to as "Joker" or he simply refused to speak.

The psychiatrist leaned back in his seat, regarding the patient carefully.

"Okay." He said. "Do you have a last name?"

Jack glanced up briefly, nodding, before once more looking down.

"You mind telling me what it is?" The doctor pushed.

Jack shook his head.

"… Well? What is it?"

…

"… N-Napier."

"Napier?"

Another nod.

"Jack Napier? That's your name?"

Again he nodded.

Dr. Richardson quickly wrote it down.

It couldn't hurt, the psychiatrist thought. It would be easy enough to check the name out, see if it was real or not, if it matched up with any missing person's reports and so on.

"Alright, Jack…" he started, watching as the thin man continued to sit with his eyes cast down. "You said you were scared. Do you want to talk about it? What are you scared of?"

"_Everything_." He thought. And his brow furrowed.

He was scared of being alone, being left alone here, to rot, scared of Jeannie leaving him. Scared of the men in white uniforms walking around the place, scared of what they might do to him. Scared of not knowing…

"… I… I don't know w…why I'm here." He whispered. "N… no one tells me."

Confusion past over the doctors features.

"You don't know why you're here?" He asked, perplexed.

And slowly Jack shook his head.

For a long moment, Dr. Richardson watched him closely, trying to determine if there was any sincerity to the statement. It didn't seem possible, for the Joker _not _to know why he was here.

He'd always made clear he was aware of the reason, even gloated about it, recalling his crimes with an obvious sense of pride and amusement.

The psychiatrist reached up, removing his glasses, cleaning the lens absentmindedly on his jacket.

"You'll forgive me Jok… er, Jack, but I find that somewhat hard to believe."

Jack's eyes closed, the familiar sinking sensation returning to his stomach.

Why would no one listen to him? It was like no one heard him at all.

Loneliness seemed to crush down on him, making it hard to breathe.

He didn't say anything.

Dr. Richardson sighed.

"Listen, I know that in the past you haven't shown much interest in these sessions, haven't shown an interest in progress, but if you want our time together to be productive, you're going to have to be honest with me."

In the past? Jack couldn't remember having ever spoken with this man, or anyone else here. What was happening? God, he was so confused…

"If you're going to lie, I'm afraid I can't help you." The psychiatrist went on.

"… I… I'm not lying." Jack said, his voice barely audible as his face turned away, curling his hands in closer against his stomach.

"Yet you expect me to believe you don't know why it is you've been committed here? Joker, listen to me, I'm not some amateur psychiatrist fresh out of med. School. I've been doing this a _very_ long time, and it's going to take more then some cheap acting job to pull the wool over my eyes. If you want to play games, then I can end the session right now and have you escorted back to your cell. It's up to you."

Dr. Richardson watched him with a mild sense of apprehension.

The Joker was dangerous. The most dangerous inmate in Arkham, by far, and the psychiatrist was certain he didn't appreciate being talked down to like this. But the last thing he wanted was to lose control of the session, and that would be done, he thought, if he didn't make clear his intolerance for any sort of mind games.

Of course, the Joker was such a master of it, that the psychiatrist feared he would remain unaware of it happening, should the Joker so choose.

If he'd been trying to manipulate him just now, he'd done a rather clumsy and glaring job of it, and that, to the doctor, seemed uncharacteristic.

Still, he was intent on making his position clear, it being the safest route when dealing with such a patient.

What happened next though… Dr. Richardson found himself staring in shock.

The Joker's face seemed to crumple, and quickly tears had pooled in his eyes, falling, streaming down his cheeks.

He turned away, his brow furrowed heavily, mouth pulled in to a severe frown.

"… I'm not lying." He repeated in a whisper, and his voice strained now with his tears. "W-why won't anyone tell me? I don't understand…"

His hands came up, his palms pressing in to his eyes as he tried to stop his tears. A kind of hopelessness consumed him, weighing down on him, and he thought then no one would ever help him; that no one wanted to.

Maybe it was some cruel joke they played, like… like his father had always done, or the other kids at school. And he'd been so stupid, never knowing... Jeannie… Jeannie had always had to tell him, tell him when he was being made fun of, when he was being made a fool.

The tears grew thicker in his eyes, falling faster.

What good… what good did any of his understanding of science and math and chemistry and biology do him when… when he couldn't even see when people were lying to him? When they were laughing right in his face?

His fingers curled in to his hair, and he bit down hard on his lip, trying to suppress the sob which threatened at the back of his throat.

Dr. Richardson watched with a clear look bemusement.

The display seemed genuine, but then, one never could tell with the Joker, so masterful was he in the art of manipulation.

Still, something seemed distinctly out of place to the doctor, something in the patient's demeanor, the way he now held himself, and the absolute anguish etched across his features.

Dr. Richardson wasn't going to allow himself to be duped, to be ensnared in the same trap of sympathetic regard the Joker seemed to induce in so many of his psychiatrists.

But he wasn't going to entirely disregard the possibility of the outburst being genuine.

The Joker was sick, after all, and he was supposed to be here to help him. And so often did the madman's mind seem to shift, to change not only his personality, but the very way in which he thought, Dr. Richardson supposed it wasn't out of the question, that such a shift might cause in him a confusion deep enough to render him unaware of his own crimes.

If he somehow really had forgotten the reason for his being here, though unlikely it seemed, the psychiatrist didn't see the harm in informing him of why.

He shifted in his seat, replacing his glasses along the bridge of his nose before sighing, clasping his hands together over his desk.

"You _really_ don't know why you're here?" He questioned, finding it difficult to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

But if the Joker had detected it, he didn't indicate such, shaking his head weakly, wiping at his eyes.

"I d… don't know. I d-don't remember being b-brought here." He stammered, still looking away. "Jeannie… Jeannie says I… I've had m-mental problems…"

"Jeannie?" Dr. Richardson questioned.

"M… my wife." Jack answered quietly.

Now _this_ was truly fascinating.

First he gives a name, and now insists the rumors of him being married are true. Though still weary of the Joker's ability to weave convincing tales completely false in nature, the psychiatrist couldn't help but note the novelty of the situation. There really _was_ a woman who had been coming to visit him, who he'd been receiving willingly, and then there were the reports of his unusual behavior from the asylum staff.

Something was going on, and if the Joker was playing some sort of game, he was going to awfully elaborate measures for it.

"I see." Dr. Richardson went on, nodding. He wanted to see just how detailed the Joker would get, as a way of trying to glean the legitimacy of his words. "And how long have you been married to… Jeannie?'

Jack blinked, looking up finally, a thick film of tears still obscuring his vision.

"T… three years." He said frailly.

"Three years?" The older man asked. "So, you married this woman in 2008?"

The psychiatrist had to suppress his own laughter. The Joker couldn't possibly be serious, thinking he would buy such a scenario. No one would marry the Joker. No one in their right mind, in any event, thus excluding Ms. Quinzell.

Confusion shown in Jack's eyes.

"Tw… two-thousand ei-eight?" He questioned, his voice filled with uncertainty.

"… Yes." The doctor said slowly. "It's 2011, so if you've been married three years, as you say, then that would mean you wed in 2008."

For a long moment, Jack said nothing, his mind racing frantically, trying to understand what was happening. Was… was this man lying to him? Was he playing some sort of game?

"N… no." He started shakily. "No, it… it's nineteen-ninety seven. We… we got married in… in n… nineteen-ninety f-four…"

Dr. Richardson frowned, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward on his desk.

Now he was certain the Joker was playing games.

"I think you know very well what year it is." He replied pointedly, coldly. "As I said to you earlier, your games will not be tolerated Joker. Either you come to me straight or…"

"No, no it's…" he was cut short by the Joker's despairing, pleading voice. "It's nineteen-ninety seven! I… I k-know it is! I know it!"

Jack felt suddenly nauseous, his head spinning, fear taking him in its grip.

What was this man talking about? Why… why did he keep accusing him of playing games? Why… why did he keep calling him by that name when… when he'd _told_ him his name? He'd told him!

A fresh wave of tears came to his eyes, pouring down, and he looked away again, shaking his head.

"I know it." He said more softly.

Dr. Richardson's expression had changed to one of concern.

Alright, so maybe he wasn't entirely certain of the Joker's insincerity.

The desperation in his voice seemed anything but mockish, the pain evident, the confusion. He sounded like he was grasping for some kind of purchase, for anything to quell his vexation.

For a few moments, the psychiatrist watched the Joker as he shook silently, shaking his head back and forth, hands buried tight in his hair now.

"_1997_?" Dr. Richardson thought, his eyes narrowing.

That would be right around the time when the Joker had first appeared, actually. The first year he'd shown up.

Could it be…?

The psychiatrist cleared his throat, licking his lips, his fingers tapping distractedly against the case file in front of him.

"It's 2011." He said, a little more carefully. "See?" He turned his computer monitor around so that it faced the Joker, bringing up a calendar on the screen.

Jack wiped at his eyes, glancing towards the computer.

He blinked, seeing the date.

June 21st, 2011.

He began to tremble.

No… no, how could… how could this be? _How_? It… it made no sense, none of it…

His eyes grew wide, as he thought back to his appearance, to… to Jeannie's. The… the both of them looked… looked older, didn't they?

But no… _no_, how could it be?

That was… that was 15 years. 15 years and he couldn't…

His head shook.

No, he couldn't remember anything, couldn't remember what had happened, how he'd… how he'd gotten here. How he'd wound up in that apartment with Jeannie when… when the last thing he recalled was being at Ace, that there'd been so much noise, the sound of guns and people screaming and… and…

He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands.

Oh God, what was happening? How could this be happening?

"Joker?" Dr. Richardson questioned.

But the Joker didn't move, continuing to sit with his face covered, shaking visibly.

The psychiatrist frowned.

"… Jack?" He tried.

And the thin man shifted.

"Jack." Dr. Richardson said more firmly, suspecting it might yield results.

And slowly, Jack's hands lowered from his face.

Still though he kept his face turned down, his eyes rimmed red with his tears.

Dr. Richardson didn't think he was pretending now; he didn't think it at all.

"Do you remember anything? Anything from the past 15 years?"

And Jack shook his head slowly, his features twisted in pain.

"No." He answered, his voice breaking.

The psychiatrist's expression grew more concerned then.

"You don't remember any of your crimes then?"

"C… crimes?" Jack questioned, looking up at the doctor, his forehead lined in anxiety, brow furrowed in worry.

The psychiatrist said nothing for a long moment, watching the thin man carefully.

If he truly didn't remember, depending on what kind of person he had been before becoming the Joker, and from everything Dr. Richardson could thus far tell, he wasn't what one would call a hardened criminal, he feared what he had to tell him might likely devastate him.

But if he wanted to help this man, he realized, he also had to take in to consideration that, eventually, if he was going to get better, he was going to have to face up to what he had done.

He breathed deeply, letting it go in a sigh.

"Jack, you…" he paused. It seemed strange to him, to be calling the Joker by any name other then his self-appointed moniker. He had to word this delicately, he thought. "You're in here because…"

And Jack looked at him with wide, expectant eyes, filled too with fear.

The psychiatrist hesitated only a moment longer.

"You're in here because you've committed repeated criminal offenses and because you've been deemed mentally unfit to stand trial for those crimes."

Jack's expression didn't make it clear he understood, looking at the doctor with the same, deep confusion.

"Y… you mean m… my breaking in to… to Ace Chemicals?" He asked anxiously.

Dr. Richardson's lips pursed, his hands folding tight together.

"… No." He started slowly, shaking his head. "No, it's… I'm afraid it's more serious then that."

Still Jack's expression was one of puzzlement. He looked lost.

"Jok… Jack… you…" the psychiatrist halted. "you've killed people."

Jack stared, unblinking, unsure if he'd heard correctly.

And then he began to blink, rapidly, his breath coming in suddenly short, shallow bursts.

"W… what?" He asked, his voice a whisper.

Dr. Richardson looked at him with now sympathetic eyes, seeing the horrified disbelief on the thin man's face.

Again he inhaled deeply, letting it go slowly.

"You've… you've killed people. A great many people."

And suddenly it came crashing back to Jack, what those men in white had said, what they'd told him.

He… he hadn't believed them. He'd thought… thought they were saying it just to scare him.

His head began to shake, his mind rebelling against the very thought, unable to accept it, to understand…

"N-no…" his voice shook heavily. "No that… that's n-not true. That's not tt… t-true…"

It wasn't! It couldn't be! _Couldn't_! He… he'd have remembered something like that, he… he would have… And… and… no! He couldn't do that, he couldn't… he wasn't… didn't even know how… how to fight, couldn't win a fight… He wasn't… wasn't strong… wasn't strong enough… He was weak and… and… He couldn't kill anybody. He'd never… never wanted to hurt anybody! And… and he couldn't… they wouldn't let him, they'd… they'd just push… push him off if… if…

He wouldn't hurt anybody…

More tears formed and fell from his eyes, his head continuing to shake.

He suddenly remembered the dreams, the awful dreams… He'd… he'd been sure they weren't real though, he's been sure they were only nightmares. The blood on his hands, and that terrible, terrible laughter, the horrified faces of people, looking back at him with huge and stricken eyes, their mouths open, screams tearing from their throats.

But they were just dreams. They _had_ to be…

"I c… can't have k-killed anyone. I can't…"

Dr. Richardson looked gravely back.

The turmoil on the Joker's face was upsetting.

The psychiatrist felt sure now he was telling the truth, that he really _didn't_ remember, and that made the situation all the more uncertain, and dangerous… But he'd already told him, and he couldn't backtrack.

His eyes shifted down a moment, feeling a certain kind of anxiety.

"You have…" he said softly, trying to make his voice un-accusatory.

"B-but I can't…" Jack's voice broke heavily. "I can't have. I… I d-don't remember. I would… I would remember if… if I'd done s-something like that. I'd remember. W… wouldn't I?"

He looked at the older man with anguished eyes.

Dr. Richardson sighed.

"You may be experiencing repressed memories. That's something your mind does when something you've gone through is too traumatizing and thus unmanageable. Though why that would be happening to you now, I don't know. Listen…" and he turned the computer monitor back around. "It's going to be worse for you if you don't understand why it is you're here, and I won't be able to help you if you can't accept or admit to the things you've done. This is an asylum for the _criminally_ insane, for people who've committed crimes because they're suffering some form of psychosis."

He began to type along the keyboard.

"Look, you don't have to believe me, but your criminal exploits are well recorded at this point."

And suddenly he turned the screen back around to face Jack, and upon it was some sort of encyclopedia called Wikipidia, the subject title "Joker, The". To the right of that title was a picture, and almost immediately, Jack recognized his own image, the same, pale, almost translucent skin he'd seen reflected back at him in that mirror, the green hair and red lips. Only the expression wasn't like any he'd ever seen on his own face, the mouth pulled up in a severe grin, eyes wide and wild, hair long but styled neatly in to a 50s style pompadour. It was him, there could be no doubt, the same exact features, same structure.

But he looked… he looked _mean_… so, so mean.

Quickly Jack's eyes scanned over the information, reading it fast.

It detailed a sociopathic criminal known only as the Joker, whose first known appearance occurred in 1997, and who'd since made a career out of criminality, saying he was not only Gotham city's most famed and notorious law breaker, but easily the most renowned in all of the United States and one of the most well known throughout the world. It talked of his often times over the top, theatrical displays, but also his unparalleled panache for violence and reckless behavior. Early on, it said, before he'd been deemed mentally unstable, the Joker hadn't been quite so bloodthirsty, his crimes at that point more or less harmless to the public at large. But within a few years of first appearing, his exploits took a decidedly gruesome turn, and he began murdering people in droves, all the while showing complete disregard, not only for their lives, but his own as well, often willingly placing himself in life-threatening positions. Several times, he'd been rumored to have been killed, only for him to show up again a few months later.

A section of the page told of the Joker's philosophical outlook, and how he demonstrated his belief in nihilism through not just words, but his actions.

Jack's eyes went wide as it began to describe the Joker's obsession with the crime-fighting vigilante known as Batman, and how, more and more over the years, the madman's crimes had begun to focus solely on drawing the Batman out so that he might engage with him in a battle of wits and philosophy.

Batman? The Batman Jack had… had been with? The one who'd brought him to see Jeannie?

But he'd… he'd been so kind, so nice to him? Why would he be if what this article said was true?

His eyes continued to read and he felt his heart nearly stop in his chest as his mind processed the next paragraph of information.

The Joker, it said, was considered to be, individually, the most deadly human being on the planet, known to be responsible for the murders of over two hundred and fifty people, and suspected to be responsible for the deaths of several hundred more.

It was instantly Jack felt himself beginning to hyperventilate.

No, no, no… this couldn't be true. Please _God_, this couldn't be true!

This was… this was some kind of trick. It… it _had_ to be!

He shook his head, his face turning down.

"Nooo…" he whined desperately, his voice frail. "No, it… it can't… Why are you… w-why are you d… doing this?"

Dr. Richardson's expression turned quizzical.

"I'm not doing anything." He said. "I'm just trying to help you understand."

But Jack just kept shaking his head, looking away, tears continuing down his cheeks.

The psychiatrist sighed.

He had to make him see, to accept reality.

He typed in something else, bringing up Google and searching for news articles.

"This is real." He said. "I'm not trying to hurt you, but you have to accept it."

And he brought up an article, the headline reading…

"Joker slaughters 10 in shopping mall massacre"

"See?" The doctor pressed, and Jack looked up, blinking rapidly at the screen.

A sob pushed past his lips, and once more he began to tremble.

The older man pulled up a different article, this one reading…

"30 killed in Robinson Park explosion. Joker suspected"

"N-no, please stop… please…" he begged, his voice wavering.

This wasn't happening. Oh God, please, he couldn't take this.

He leaned forward, his hands coming up to his face, covering it, agonized sobs rising up from his throat. He shook violently.

Dr. Richardson regarded him with now sympathetic eyes.

"I'm sorry." He said, somewhat uncomfortably, not having anticipated this type of interaction with the Joker at all. "I know this is difficult."

But Jack just kept shaking his head, his sobs growing worse, more labored and tortured.

It was over, all over for him… everything, it was ruined, ruined, oh God…

How could… how could this have happened? How could anything…

He couldn't go back, he couldn't… Oh Christ, God he was never getting out of here, not ever… And he… he didn't deserve to… he didn't…

How could this be? How could this be?

His mind felt like it was falling in on itself, crushing down, and he was disappearing, fading… fading away…

Dr. Richardson watched the thin man with apprehension as his body continued to be racked by his heavy sobs. He wasn't sure what to do, what to say in this moment to bring him any sort of consolation. It seemed to him, discovering such a thing about yourself, would bring you beyond comfort.

So he just sat, watching, waiting, hoping for it to end.

And it did, only in a way the psychiatrist hadn't expected, or hoped.

The heaved sobs began to first seemingly quicken, growing more erratic, more broken, and soon they raised in pitch, keening higher and higher with each passing second, until the doctor realized, with horror, that the sobbing had begun to morph, to change in nature entirely… change to laughter.

"Heeeee…. Heeheehee… ohh, whaa, hahah… oh… oh my goodness, oh… oh dear…"

The Joker straightened, wiping the tears from his eyes with his knuckles.

"Oh, hoho, this is… this is most unfortunate… most unfortunate indeed."

Dr. Richardson stiffened, his mouth pulling immediately in to a frown as he stared back at the Joker, eyes narrowing in sudden anger.

He'd… he'd been _pretending_? This whole time? He'd been _fooling _him? But… but _how_? He'd been so sure… so sure the emotions were real.

That son of a bitch, that basta…

The Joker began to shake his head.

"I… I remember him… remember everything. The… the sniveling little _twerp_! So… so consumed with _guilt_. Such a useless, _conditioned_ emotion."

The older man's brow furrowed.

What the hell was going on?

The Joker looked pointedly at him.

"He's so _weak_! Do you understand? Such a useless, _worthless_ thing. But I… I remember, can… can _feel_ him even now! He and his ridiculous fear! His pathetic whining and timidity!"

Abruptly the Joker's face screwed up in seeming pain, his eyes squeezing shut, lip curling. His bent forward, his hands gripping painfully along the sides of his head.

"God, get _out_!" He spit. "Get out you loser! You pitiful child!"

Dr. Richardson leaned back in horror then as the Joker slammed his face, hard, against the edge of his desk, and then again, and he could see the patient digging his nails brutally in to his own scalp.

Blood ran from the Joker's nose.

"Heehee, this… this is so absurd. So completely absurd!" And again he began to laugh.

"I see you in there, you _sorry_ little boy, I see you! But you can't last! I won't let you. Now that I know you're there, now that I know, I'll crush you in to the nothing that you are!"

The psychiatrist's eyes grew large.

He _hadn't_ been pretending then? It… it had all been real!

My God, and only now… only now did the Joker seem to realize, seem to become aware of… Dr. Richardson could only call it his other self.

Suddenly the Joker again looked at him, his mouth pulling in to a frown. Slowly his head shook.

"Oh no. No, no, nooo. Don't you _think_ of it _Doctor_ Richardson. This is nothing for you to capitalize on, believe me. That tragic little man you just met… you won't be seeing him again, I promise you absolutely. He's _mine_ now. He's _mine_."


	36. Chapter 36

**Hey guys! Merry Christmas! Here's a new chapter for you all! I hope you enjoy it. We're actually getting very close to the end here, though there's a surprise, so I won't give too much away.**

**Just a little update on my story "Limits", if you're reading along with that too. I'm almost done with the next chapter. Probably ¾ of the way through. So I'll have that up very soon as well. I've just been a bit busy lately. I'm also going to get back to all of you who left me a review last chapter! Believe, I appreciate you immensely. Hope you enjoy this chapter, and again, reviews are welcome! **

**Chapter 36:**

"You came back?"

Her eyes moved over him, nodding slowly as she took in the fresh bruises along his face and arms, an anxious knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

"Why?" She heard him ask, and she brought her gaze back up.

"Why did you come back?"

She blinked.

"Why…? Why wouldn't I?"

He looked at her for only a moment longer before his eyes slid away, and he shrugged, saying nothing.

"Jack…" she began. "there was never any question as to whether I was going to or not. Don't you know that by now?"

Still he kept his gaze to his side, shaking his head.

"But I don't understand." He said. "I don't understand why you would come back. I didn't think you would. Not after…"

He had to stop, his brow furrowing deeply, a terrible feeling of constriction seizing his throat as the thought of what he'd almost done, what he'd _wanted_ to do caused his skin to burn with frustration and anger, and suddenly emotion overtook him, and he leaned down, burying his face in his arms, curling his hands over his head.

When had this started? When had it begun, that his thoughts of violence, his desire to see pain, to _inflict _it now caused in him feelings of _shame_?

He couldn't take this. He couldn't anymore. It was all gone, all the fun of it, replaced by this sickening, dead weight of self-loathing.

Jeannie watched him carefully, shaking her head.

"You used to have such faith in people Jack." She spoke softly, her voice tinged with regret.

"Did I?" He asked, his voice muffled and weak. And then he laughed lightly, the sound bitter. "And look where that faiths now gotten me."

Her mouth pulled in to a severe frown, her hands tightening over her bag.

What was she supposed to say to that?

Tell him he was wrong? Because the truth was… he wasn't, ill as it made her to admit such.

It was Jack's faith in people, his belief that their words and actions would be as genuine as his own, that had led him to this place, led him to what he now was.

It was his trust in that horrible man that had brought him to Ace Chemicals that night, brought him up to that catwalk, above that vat of waste, because he hadn't realized until it was too late what kind of man Charlie Zucko was, and by the time he did, he didn't have the ability, didn't _understand_ how to ask for help.

But it had also been that faith, his ability to hold on to his belief in _good_, despite all the horrors he'd suffered in his life, that had made him so absolutely _amazing_.

To see how that had been destroyed, it was nothing short of tragedy.

She exhaled slowly, deciding it best not to dwell on it, to simply stay focused on the two of _them_.

"Jack, I came back because I _care_ about you still. I _love_ you. Don't you see? Don't you understand? I want to _help_ you."

The Joker only shook his head, his face still pressed against his arms.

He _didn't_ understand, why this woman gave so much of a damn about him, why she continued to _try_ for him. He would have been sure she was lying, that she had some ulterior motive if he couldn't see… couldn't see she _didn't_. There was the kind of honest belief in her eyes, the kind of conviction he saw in Batman's own. She wasn't lying. When she said she loved him she _meant_ it.

And that, more then anything, was what was so confusing to him.

"Why would you love me?" He muttered, still not looking up.

"Because I _know_ you Jack. Because I've known you since you were a little boy… Because you were the best person I've ever met."

Finally the Joker lifted his face, staring at her with tired eyes.

"I'm not that person anymore." He said warily, for the first time the fire seeming to be gone completely from his voice. "I'm not the _good_ boy you married."

But Jeannie only shook her head.

"You are. Even if you don't realize it…" she said. "There's still so much left of you Jack. You can still find what was good in you."

"No…" the Joker shook his head, his expression twisting in pain. "No I… don't you see? I was…" And his face lined more heavily still. "I was going to kill you. I would have if… if Batman hadn't…" But again he was unable to finish, his eyes once more casting down, his hands curling to tight fists, fingers digging in to his palms.

"I wouldn't have been able to stop myself." He at last finished, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper. And there was anguish in it; disgust.

Jeannie bit her lower lip. The admission should have frightened her, she knew. It should have sent her screaming from the room.

But it didn't. All she could think now was of the guilt in his voice. The regret.

She'd heard it before, that time he'd grabbed hold of her wrist.

Now it was ten times as apparent.

"You're mad at yourself." She said, and his eyes moved back to her. "You're mad at yourself for what you did… Do you see what that means? What it… what it says about…"

"You make assumptions!" He cut her off quickly, his voice rising slightly in anger.

He stared at her hard a moment, as though trying to emphasize his point, before he found himself unable to stand his own denial, and his eyes once more slid away.

She was right.

He didn't know when he'd become so uncomfortable with his own emotions that he couldn't admit to them. But he loathed himself for the weakness.

Though this particular emotion was new, something he'd never before experienced, discomfort with his own _actions_.

Jeannie's eyes again fell over the bruising on his face and arms, the same anxiety from before returning.

"You've been hurt." She said, and at this he again shrugged.

"Those boys I knocked out…" the Joker started. "I should have killed them. They were none too pleased, having their hides handed to them by a single man." He looked at her, smiling, but it didn't escape her notice how the effort was half-hearted, the corners of his mouth falling flat again a moment later. "Embarrassing and all, for men who spend a couple of hours a day lifting weights and think somehow that makes them special. So they came back with ten extra of their friends…" He held her eyes a moment, his expression un-amused. "And had their little fun."

She hated this. She hated how God damned _helpless_ she was in this. With him being in here, locked away, there was nothing she, or anyone could do to stop the orderlies from abusing him, save for the hospital administration, and they weren't going to do shit.

"A… are you alright?" She asked, knowing either way he wasn't about to tell her if he wasn't.

Once more he shrugged.

"Compared to what I'm used to…" he looked away. "I barely felt anything at all."

She swallowed, doubting that was likely. The deep, black and blue bruises over both his eyes, and the abrasions across his pale face said otherwise.

The Joker chuckled suddenly, looking back at her.

"You know what's _funny_?" He asked, and she only looked at him.

"I threw up. One of the bastards kicked me so hard in the stomach that I actually vomited." Again he chuckled, though the laughter was mirthless. "Can you believe? I don't think that's ever happened before. Not to my recollection, in any event. Hmm. Yes indeed, they got a _lot_ of mileage out of that one. They laughed and laughed…"

For several seconds more, he held her gaze, and then his eyes cast down, picking absently at his fingernails.

"But I didn't make a sound for them." He finished, his voice soft.

Jeannie felt her jaw tighten.

He would never admit to it, but she could see his humiliation. She thought about telling him that it was a normal reaction, to vomit when met with blunt force to the abdomen, but she didn't think that would help him any. It might only make him more upset.

She'd again asked Batman if there was any way they could take Jack out of this place, put him in to a different hospital, but Batman had told her it was impossible, that any such order would have to come from Arkham's board of directors, and that the chances of them releasing their "star patient" in to another mental institute was slim to none.

But this damned _place_… It was so _dangerous_, and every moment she felt herself fearing for her husbands safety.

She feared too what should happen when Jack again reemerged, and found himself back here, locked away without her. The last thing he'll have remembered was being with her at Gotham General. He'd have no clue as to what happened in between then.

She tried to push the thoughts from her mind, realizing there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She only hoped when that did happen, it would be during one of her visits, and at least then, she could try and console him.

"When did…" She had to pause, her emotions getting the better of her. "When did it happen?"

The Joker felt his hands tighten in anxiety.

There he went again, _telling_ her things. And now here she was with her _concern_, as though it would make any difference to anything.

But his mind puzzled as he heard himself answering her question, and realizing in some sickening sort of way, it gave him comfort to tell her.

"They come at night." He said. "That's when they always come, after most of the staff has gone away. Less risk of being found out."

"Have you ever told anyone, besides me I mean?"

At this he laughed.

"And who would believe me?" He asked. "Even if I were believed, no one would do anything to stop it. Haven't you noticed my dear? They _want_ to see me suffer. As exampled by your own attempts to intercede. Nothing was done. It doesn't matter anyway. I don't mind it."

That once was true.

He hadn't cared before. He'd always thought it amusing, the men's sorry attempts at intimidation. And how they never seemed to learn how very ineffective it all was.

But things had begun to change, when she had started coming regularly. It wasn't fear. He still was unfazed entirely by the threat of physical violence. It was something more complex, something deeper.

It was worry over her reaction, when she saw him hurt. He was thinking about how it would cause her pain.

"Jack, _please_…" Jeannie pleaded. "Don't do this to yourself. You can't keep acting like this. Like… like you don't _care _about yourself. Why do you…?"

"Because I _don't_." He spit back, angrily, cutting her off. "I don't give a _damn_ what happens to me, and neither should _you_."

For a moment, Jeannie sat silently, saying nothing, never averting her gaze.

"I don't believe that Jack." She said quietly after a moment. "I don't believe you care so little about yourself. Maybe you once did, when you thought there was no one left out there for you. But Jack, there's people who love you still. _I_ love you. That has to mean something, has to make you believe you deserve better then this life you've made for yourself. Don't you want that Jack? Don't you want better then this?"

Again he'd turned his face from her, his head shaking. Unconsciously he'd wrapped his arms around himself, looking so much like he used to, like the shy, beautiful boy she'd known and loved so long.

Jeannie felt her throat constrict at the sight.

"That's over for me." He said, his voice barely audible. "It was always over. People like me Jeannie… My ruin was _designed_. There was never any hope of escaping it. And there can be no going back. Not for me. Not for someone like me."

She wanted to tell him he was wrong. But she couldn't deny there being a certain truth to his words. Looking back, from the moment Jack had come in to this world, it had seemed there was a convergence of events, of everything that had ever happened to him working in some sick, streamlined order to _destroy_ him.

It all seemed so incredibly unfair, how so much of what had happened to him had been beyond his control. He hadn't _chosen_ to be born brilliant but then too so badly hampered by autism, he hadn't _chosen _a sadistic father who would every day derive his pleasure from torturing his defenseless son. Those things in themselves had set him up for so much of what had gone wrong; the fact his self-esteem had been completely crushed before he was even old enough to have a fully realized personality. His mind was superior, but then, that had made him different, and he'd been singled out for it, and his condition had rendered him incapable of navigating at all through social situations. So he'd been met with the blunt force of people's cruelty, without any real recourse, without knowing how to defend against it or even how to communicate when it was he needed help.

Being honest with herself, Jeannie had always known, always sensed Jack wasn't going to be okay, but she'd tried to ignore it, to pretend it wasn't so, because the thought had always been so unbearable.

Jack had been so trusting, and so desperate, never with the confidence to succeed, but with the deep desire to, for fear of disappointing _her_. And so he'd believed a bad man when he said he wanted to help.

And again his trust had been betrayed.

For the last time it had.

Because after that, Jack was gone.

And even that hadn't been his own choice.

Jeannie shifted in her seat, bringing her eyes down to her bag, playing absently with the latch.

Maybe he was right, maybe what had happened to him was inevitable. She wasn't able to save him, and nobody else had ever really bothered to even try. Her hands tightened. They'd tried for just the _opposite_.

But that didn't mean he couldn't be brought back.

He'd changed so much since the first time they'd spoken here.

He'd seemed to anyway.

And that gave her hope.

She decided it would be best to move away from this. At least for now.

She didn't want him to shut down on her again.

"I brought something…" she said, opening her bag and reaching in. Her fingers brushed against the small piece of hard plastic a moment before she took it in her grip, pulling it out.

"Do you remember?" She asked, holding it out for him to see.

The Joker didn't move, his eyes shifting to it from the side.

A Rubik's Cube.

The paint had been only a little faded with age, slightly muting it's once vibrant colors.

He didn't say anything.

Bright bursts of memory again filled his head, and his gaze slide away once more.

Jeannie could see the recognition in his eyes, and so she continued.

"It's the same one… the same one I bought for you on your 22nd birthday. Do you remember? You'd seen it in the window of that toy shop. What was it, Maurice's Toys? We were taking a walk downtown. And you'd gotten so excited. You told me you'd always wanted one as a kid but never had the money, and your father…"

His eyes moved back to her and she paused a moment.

"… Your father never bought you any toys." She finished more quietly. "… So I bought it for you, a few weeks later for your birthday."

She laughed lightly and the Joker again turned away, his eyes closing, a strange kind of warmth running down through his stomach at the sound.

"You solved the thing in about 10 seconds I remember. And I asked you if you were sure you'd never done it before. And you shook your head very seriously and said…"

"I'd seen people do it on TV, and I could always follow the patterns." He finished for her.

She blinked, a small smile spreading over her lips.

"Yeah." She nodded. "I never understood, because those kids on TV doing it, their hands always moved so fast and I could never see anything. But you tried to explain. You said it was just a matter of multiplying the number of sides with the number of colors and then, depending how many degrees of separation there were between each side and color, calculating how many turns it would take to line them all up." Again she laughed. "I still don't know what you were talking about."

He glanced at her, saying nothing, and then his eyes again fell to the toy.

"Here." She said, sliding the small window to her left open. "Do you still think you can do it?"

She held the cube through the opening, waiting, and he looked at it a long moment, silent, not moving.

His tongue darted out, running over his lips, and without really thinking about it, his hand reached out, his long fingers curling around the toys edges and taking it, and she slid the window back shut.

He brought it close, sitting it on the table before him, just staring down at it, his hands on either side.

Jeannie watched him carefully, wondering what he was thinking.

He recalled what she said, the feeling of excitement the toy had brought him.

Still brought him.

Toys still brought him excitement.

His lips curled up slightly at the irony.

Who would suspect a mass murdering lunatic of liking _children's_ toys?

The smile quickly faded though as he thought of what else she'd said, about his father, about never being allowed toys…

His hands moved to the cube, picking it up, turning it over a few times.

The colors all merged together in his mind, already figuring which way each strip would have to turn to make the sides match.

And lazily his hands worked the toy, turning its sections slowly, deliberately, never once making a mistake.

Within seconds he was done, and he just stared at the completed puzzle in his hands, his expression blank.

Jeannie had watched him with a kind of sinking fondness, her mind wondering back to their days together, how the two of them would just sit quietly for hours, content in each others company. Jack, in all his complex brilliance, had always been so easily absorbed in seemingly simple things, toys and cartoons and slap-stick comedy.

She'd bought him all these VHS tapes of Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton, Donald O'Conner, Laurel and Hardy, Red Skeleton and The Three Stooges, and she remembered how he'd sit in front of the TV watching them, laughing, really _laughing_. He'd always seemed so _happy_ during those times… one of the only times he'd ever, truly seemed that way. One of the only times he'd seemed able to let go of the demons which tortured him.

She wished so much… so much they could go back to that.

It seemed almost possible, when he was like this, quiet, introverted, when the resemblance to what he had been was so strong, the only thing disrupting it the stark white of his skin and horrible scarring across his once beautiful face.

It ended quickly though as suddenly his expression twisted in a scowl of disgust, his entire frame tensing.

"Take it." He said, his voice low. "Take it back. I don't want this. This stupid _toy_."

She looked at him in confusion, taken aback by the anger in his voice.

"I'm not… I'm not some _child _for you to protect!" He spit. "I'm not the _boy_ you knew! Don't… don't treat me like I am, bringing me… making me play with your ridiculous toys!"

His voice was growing louder, more frantic.

He seemed almost… embarrassed; ashamed, his eyes refusing to lift to hers as he held the cube near the window, wanting her to take it, acting almost as if just holding the thing was causing his skin to burn.

"TAKE IT!" He yelled loudly, and she jumped slightly in her seat.

"… Okay Jack." She said after a moment. "Okay."

He continued to look away, his head turned to the side.

She reached forward, sliding the small window open again, and he began to push the toy back through, his head turning more severely away, as though he couldn't even bare to look at her.

And she didn't hesitate, seeing her chance, seeing how he wasn't watching her. Her hand shot forward, through the opening, her fingers wrapping tightly around his own.

He froze, his fingers stiffening, straightening from around the cube, and it fell with a soft smack against the outside counter.

And suddenly, a confusing sensation, an unfamiliar warmth began to rise up from the pit of his stomach, radiating outwards through his whole body, and at once he grew light-headed, dizzy, the room around him seeming to shift and sway.

The tension went from his form, from his face and his back, his shoulders and arms and legs. He felt abruptly weak, limp and languid, as if weighed down by a thousand tons of water.

Slack.

His head turned, slowly, eyes shifting down, focusing dazedly on the small hand wrapped with a seemingly impossible strength around his own.

Was he going to faint?

He felt like he was. He felt like he was going to pass out.

He blinked.

"… Jeannie." His voice came out a barely audible whisper.

Her hand closed tighter.

"I'm here Jack."

And his head shook.

"No." He breathed. "D-don't…"

"Jack, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere…"

He said nothing.

"I'm not letting you go…"

His eyes closed, and he could feel her other hand now, coming through, resting atop his, her thumb massaging gently over his disfigured skin.

"Please…" he whispered. "Don't do this… I can't…"

"Jack, look at me…"

"… I can't."

"You can." She said. "Look at me sweetheart. Look at me."

And he did. He looked at her, and for the first time… the first time since they'd somehow made their way through the dark to find each other again, she saw, without obstruction, without barriers, his pain; his complete and overwhelming and suffocating pain, and his eyes glistened with tears she knew he wouldn't let fall.

"I'm right here…" she again said. "And I'm not letting you go."

He was shaking now, uncontrollable tremors running through him, and once more he looked away, feeling his breath hitch and catch in his throat. He bit down on his lip, hard, trying desperately to smother the sob which now threatened to burst forth from inside him.

"Jeannie…" his voice strained. "Please… let me go."

But she only shook her head, her hands remaining.

"_Please_…" he again tried, his voice now wavering terribly. And he began to stumble over his own words. "Le… let me go. You can't… you don't under… understand, I can't…"

"Jack?"

"We can't… w-we can't be to… together. We can't be. I can't… can't be around you, aro… around Rory. I can't be t-trusted around either of you."

"No…" Jeannie persisted. "No, Jack, listen to yourself! Listen! You can be, you _can_! You just… just have to work. Just have to… to try, to let me help you!"

He shook his head, pulling weakly to get out of her grip.

"No. Please no, you don't… don't understand, don't… don't see what I am, what I… what I've become. I can't… can't _recover_ from this! I can't be with you a… anymore. We can't be toge… together. I'll hurt you… I'll… I'll hurt Rory… I'll hurt our s-son. _Please _Jeannie, _God_ you… you have to let me go. You have to f… for both of us."

"I… I can't Jack…" she was crying now. "I can't. I won't give up on you! I won't let… let you go again!"

And the Joker's face crumpled.

"Damn it! Can't you see… can't you see how much this _hurts_?" He cried, again pulling, trying to get away. "I can't h-_have_ this Jeannie! I can't _ever_ have it! Why won't you accept that? Why won't you l-let _me_ accept that? Yo… you'll never be safe around me. No one will ever be safe around me. I'm a m-monster… I'm a God damned _monster_!"

"Jack, please, don't…" Jeannie pleaded desperately. "Don't say that, don't. You're not, you just…"

The Joker turned further away, his back now to her, his hand coming up and covering his face.

"Stop it. Oh God, stop it…" he begged. "Stop… stop promising me things I can't have. I can't ever have. Can't you see how it hurts? Can't you see? I don't want these things… don't… don't wish to _desire_ them. You have to let me go Jeannie or… or it will be the _end_ of us _both_. Don't you understand? You have to let me go… go away from me."

"What if I…" Jeannie's voice shook heavily. "What if I don't want to Jack…?"

"You have to." He answered, his voice so soft she almost didn't catch it. "You have to please…"

"Jack, I don't want to lose you… I don't want to lose you again…"

For a long moment, he said nothing, still turned from her, his hand still over his face.

This pain, oh God this pain…

Why couldn't she see what she was doing to him?

Her hand on his skin, the feel of it, her touching him so gently, with so much care… with love…

It was like drowning, like being crushed under by waves too heavy to fight, unable to keep his head above the water. He couldn't take it, couldn't take the promise that touch held, knowing it could never be, would never be…

He wished he'd never felt it at all.

"I'm gone already…" he whispered.

A long moment of silence past.

"… You aren't hurting me." She said suddenly.

He said nothing.

"You aren't hurting me now Jack. When you so easily could. You could crush my hand if you wanted… But you're not. Don't you see? You… you have to believe in yourself, believe you can do this…"

He only shook his head.

"You don't understand…" he answered softly. "I… I can't control it… I have these… these episodes. I don't… I don't always know what…" He had to pause. He'd never told anyone this before. Never admitted to anyone…

"I don't always know what's real." He finally finished. "I… I start to see things which… which aren't there… M-monstrous things. People… people become monsters, d-diseased… dirty… and I have to… I have to killthem. I have to kill them."

The doctors had always just put it down to compulsion, violent outbursts for no reason.

They had no idea of his hallucinations. He never told them.

And then his emotions… his emotions would shift so drastically, so suddenly all the time… and neither that had he any control over. His anger would flare, consuming rage, and anyone close to him was in danger then.

No. He couldn't be trusted. He couldn't even trust himself.

Suddenly he felt the hold on him tighten even more, and then begin to tug at him, pulling his hand forward, through the small window.

His head turned, uncovering his face.

He looked down.

"Jeannie, what are you…?"

"Shhh…" she cut him short. "Jack…"

She bent down, slowly, and he watched her, his breath seeming to come more rapidly, growing almost shallow.

And then, there it was, heat against his skin, something soft and wet as her lips pressed against his scabbed and dried knuckles, and then up, against the top of his hand, and then the knob of his wrist.

His stomach fluttered, his breath catching in his throat and his head spinning.

Oh God…

His eyes closed.

"Jeannie, please…" his voice came out frail, shaking.

But she said nothing, kissing him again before laying her cheek against his hand.

He felt weak, his legs feeling like they may give out beneath him, and he couldn't help it anymore as he began to sink down, on to his knees, his arm falling against the table, his face burying against it.

"It's alright Jack. It's alright." He heard her say, and his head shook.

"Oh God, Jeannie… no. I… I've killed people. I've killed so many people. Why don't you hate me? Why don't you hate me like everyone else?"

"Because I know you Jack. I know the real you…"

His head continued to shake.

Her hand on his felt so nice… it felt so nice.

And it was pure agony.

"Please stop…" he pleaded. "Please, God, stop this…"

But she wouldn't listen, continuing to kiss and caress his hand, running her soft fingers over his rough and calloused flesh.

"I love you." She said, her voice only just above a whisper. "No matter what… I'll always love you. And I'll always be right here for you. You have to understand that, I'll never abandon you."

And without even realizing it, his own fingers curled inwards, wrapping gently around her hand.

It felt so nice…

But it was gone… all gone.

"I want to help you."

"I'm beyond help." And his voice broke.

"You're not…" Jeannie persisted.

"I _am_." He hissed, finally looking up at her, anger suddenly in his voice. "I am, don't you _see_?"

And now he was pulling at her hold, stronger then before, still not strong enough to break it.

"We can't go back Jeannie. We can't… I… I'm ruined."

Why couldn't she see? Oh Jesus, _why_?

He couldn't be with her, he couldn't ever… and it hurt. It hurt so damn much, the realization suffocating, devastating. He felt destroyed inside, lost, and so alone…

So, so alone.

Her being there, her presence… it only reminded him how very alone he would _always_ be.

"Please…" he begged one last time. "let me go. You have to let me go."

It would be the end of him if she didn't, if she didn't walk away from him, leave him… the end of her, of her son… their son… God _damn it_.

He was meant to be alone now.

That's all that was meant for him.

"Jack, please, you…"

"_Goooooo_!" He cried, wavered and broken.

Jeannie felt her breath catch in her throat at the absolute _pain_ in his voice, unmitigated and unrestrained. It frightened her, how desperate he sounded.

Silence past between them, his face still buried against his arm. She could feel him shaking, trembling.

He refused to look up at her now. He couldn't. He couldn't let her go if he did.

"Jack, I…"

"Please…" he said, his voice barely audible. "Please just go. Go away and never come back."

A long moment more, her hand still held tight around his, he holding her back just barely.

He wanted this…

He really wanted this.

For her to go…

Her fingers unwound from around his wide palm, his fingers still loosely curled around hers, and she gave a weak pull, her hand coming easily free of his grip.

So alone…

His hand fell, his face still hidden.

He began to slump, sinking down further, his arms pulling back across the table as his entire body crumpled, sliding off the edge.

And he sat, sank on his knees, his head down and low, arms limp and useless as they hung by his side.

He couldn't look at her.

He couldn't.

He could never let her go then.

Could never let her go.

Seconds past in to minutes.

Minutes in to hours.

The lights went out above him.

He looked up.

And there was no one else there to be found.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37:**

He was pressed in to a corner, sunk down, knees brought up to his chest, arms wrapped tight around his torso. His eyes stared, blank and distant at nothing. No discernable expression on his face.

He hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged or even seemed to realize anyone now standing outside his cell, hadn't seemed to hear them come in.

Jeannie gazed at him intently, her anxiety growing with each moment past he did nothing. He didn't even really seem conscious, like he was passed out with his eyes held wide open.

She swallowed thickly, feeling herself begin to tremble.

She turned, looking up at the giant form of Batman, stood still, eyes fixed with equal intent on her husband.

And then he noticed her looking at him, and he looked down.

There was questioning in her eyes, as if she were asking whether it would be okay or not to speak.

He gave her a single nod, and she turned back to the Joker, stepping closer to the glass which separated them.

A moment more would pass before she finally spoke.

"Jack?"

He started, abruptly shifting as though he'd been startled.

But still he didn't look up at her.

So she said his name more loudly.

"Jack."

And now his eyes rose, and for several, long seconds, he stared at her, confusion apparent in his features, like for a moment he didn't recognize her.

But then he blinked, straightening, his eyes seeming to focus as he pressed himself harder in to the corner.

"You're not…" he began, sounding almost dazed. "You aren't…"

His head shook.

"Why are you still here? You aren't… aren't supposed to be here. I told you to leave… you… you were supposed to have gone."

Jeannie pressed her hand against the window, looking down.

"Jack, I…"

"Oh Christ, am I…" his voice cut her short. "am I dreaming?" His hands came up, burying in his hair. "Is this a dream?"

Her eyes lifted, looking at him hard.

And his own had clamped shut, his face screwed up in pain.

"I don't know what's real." He muttered. "I don't know…"

She felt her throat tighten as emotion surged within her, a sinking despair dropping down through her stomach.

"Jack, no." Her head shook. "This is real. You aren't dreaming. I'm here. I'm right here."

The Joker's lids lifted, his gaze again focusing on her. And very suddenly his expression had morphed in to one of anger, his teeth grinding in frustration.

"Then _why_ have you come?" He spit, his voice edged in tension.

His hands uncurled from his hair, messy and long from weeks of not grooming. He hadn't remembered to, hadn't cared.

"I told you to leave! I _told_ you I didn't want you here! Why do you persist in _torturing _me this way when you claim so vehemently to _care _for me? Do you not see why I've sent you away? Do you not understand? It was for _yourself_ as well as _I_!"

Suddenly he stood, stepping towards the glass.

"Your hope is foolish." He continued sharply. "Hope is for those too cowardly to face the truth." He looked abruptly to Batman, frowning deeply. "You should know something of what I'm talking about, eh Bats?"

The vigilante said nothing, arms crossed over his chest, watching the madman with unmoving eyes.

The Joker was desperate. Lashing out in hostility against what he thought was an attack. He was feeling cornered, an unfamiliar confusion having gripped his mind. Bruce could tell. He was battling against emotions he'd for so long thought himself free of, raging against them as they threatened everything he'd ever believed.

It was almost sad, to see a man of once unparalleled confidence, of absolute certainty in his proclamations, to begin so rapidly to fall apart.

Batman had never seen him so defensive, so utterly unsure of what to do.

The Joker continued to stare at him a long moment, his features contorted in anger, but his eyes filled with something entirely else.

Filled with despair.

And then, finally he shifted them back to his wife.

"I was going to spare you this reality, to save you from further _pain_." He said. "If you'd only stayed away as you were supposed to, you wouldn't now have to know. Your boy is _gone_. I've told you before, but I now know what it was that was drawing you back. Him breaking to the surface. Him gaining back _control_. It's what made you believe I could ever be that again. What made you think that's who I still _was_. So maybe you were right. Maybe Jack Napier still exists, somewhere deep inside _this_." He pressed a hand against his chest, looking at Jeannie hard. "But now that I know he's there…" his head shook. "I won't let him out. I won't let him out ever again. Your boy is _weak_ Jeannie. He's a sniveling, pathetic, weak-willed _nothing_. And he could never win against me. Never against my will. So do away with that _hope _of yours. It promises you nothing but heartache."

She stared back at him with tear filled eyes, yet her face was set in an expression of grim determination.

Her head shook.

"You didn't need to tell me that Jack." She said, her voice trembling slightly. "I only…" She reached up, wiping at her face as a single tear fell. "I only came today to tell you goodbye. I'm moving back to San Francisco. I bought tickets for me and your _son_ last night. Our flight is this evening, for ten o'clock. And I just thought you should… you should know."

And for the briefest of moments, the Joker's own, hard expression wavered, a flash of something like disappointment crossing his features before it was quickly erased, replaced again by cold indifference.

He said nothing, staring at her a long moment before finally turning, moving to his cells back wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Very well." He at last spoke, his tone flat. "Goodbye then."

A moment of silence past.

"… Jack."

He didn't move.

She continued.

"You're wrong."

And at this he glanced at her, from over his shoulder.

"My boy isn't gone…" she said, her voice quiet, strained with emotion. "He's standing right in front of me."

This drew a scoff from the Joker as he again faced away from her.

But she went on undeterred.

"You can tell yourself all you want that you aren't _him_. Or that the _weak_ young man inside you has no chance, has no hope of ever coming back." She shook her head, tears continuing to form and fall from her eyes. "But you're wrong. You _prove_ yourself wrong by showing concern for me."

"And who says I care for you?" The Joker spit in frustration.

"You do." Jeannie answered quickly, surely. "You want me away because you're afraid you'll hurt me. You didn't tell me of your plans to crush the person you really are because you thought it might cause me pain. Those aren't the actions of a man who doesn't care. You should know that better then anyone."

The Joker remained silent, unmoving.

"And another thing you're wrong about…" she went on, again wiping the tears from her face. "You were never _weak _Jack. You were never _nothing_. The boy I knew, the boy I fell in love with and married… who's child I had…" she cast her eyes down, needing to pause a moment as her emotion again overcame her. "He was a miracle." She finally managed, her voice straining and cracking. "He would have done anything for me. Would have…" She inhaled deeply, letting it go unsteadily as her tears grew thicker. "would have given his life for me… _Did_ give his life for me…"

She brought her hand to her face, covering her eyes.

"It never m-mattered how scared he was… how afraid or… or unsure of himself. It never mattered how little he b-believed in himself. He wasn't going to let anything h-happen to me… even when it meant something was going to happen t-to him." A sob pushed its way past her lips, and again she shook her head, trying to reign in her emotions. "And no matter how sh-shitty people were to him, no matter how cruel… even when it must have… must have s-seemed like everyone in the world _hated_ him…" she slammed her palm against the Plexiglas in anger at the memories of how people had abused Jack. "when he had no reason… no _reason_ to b-believe in the good of a-anyone…" And finally she looked up, staring at the Joker, his back still to her, arms still crossed and head bowed down. She sniffed, rubbing the back of her hand across her cheeks. "He did." She at last said. "He still believed that everyone, even the people who'd made him feel like he was nothing, like he was freak, even the people who made him feel like he _deserved_ to be treated that way, he still believed they were good, deep down inside them. He didn't _hate_ anyone, even though they gave him every reason in the world to. He didn't. He didn't have that ugliness in him. And he couldn't… couldn't see it in anyone else then. Couldn't co-comprehend it. He thought... he thought everyone in the world would be as pure of heart as _he _was. And that was his only m-mistake. _Your_ only mistake. But it was never a weakness. It was a _strength_. It was the weakness in everyone else that made them use your goodness against you Jack. It was always you who were the strong one, even if you… even if you couldn't see it in yourself. You were the strong one."

At last she fell silent, watching the Joker, watching for any indication at all that her words had gotten through to him.

For nearly a full minute, he didn't move, just continuing to stand there, like some kind of statue.

And then he shifted, uncrossing one of his arms, bringing a hand to his face. For a long moment he just stood there, still.

And then, finally, he spoke…

"Yes, well…" he started, his voice hushed, deflated. "I guess I learned my lesson then."

For a moment more, he kept his hand at his face, rubbing it across his eyes.

And then at last he turned, looking at Jeannie, unable to hide the troubled lines which formed along his brow.

"The world isn't built for people like that." He finished, a kind of resignation to his tone.

Jeannie shook her head.

"No Jack." She managed. "No, it's… it's them who should have learned. Not you. Jesus, you were _beautiful_. You were _so_ beautiful. And look what they did to you. Look what they _did_."

The tears grew heavy in her eyes, falling fast, and he looked at her with pure frustration now, his face pulling tight.

"Well I'm sorry to have disappointed you!" He suddenly snapped, his voice angry as he turned from her and moved for his cells cot.

And she began to cry harder, weeping loudly as she buried her face in her hands.

The Joker fell on to his cot, sitting rigidly on its edge, clasping his hands together as they dangled between his knees. His entire frame tensed and he turned his head away, staring at the wall beside him. Anywhere but at her.

But he couldn't shut out the sound of her sobs, and suddenly he could feel his jaw tighten, his teeth clenching hard together as anxiety rose up in him.

He couldn't stand the sound of her crying, he realized. But not in the way he couldn't stand it in other people, when he would feel disgust towards them for their weakness. It was something else entirely with her.

It _hurt_ him, a sinking depression consuming him at the sound of her distress, at the thought of _her_ being hurt. He wanted to _stop_ it, to take away whatever it was causing her tears. He didn't want to hear her pain. Didn't want to think of her in pain. Didn't want her to _be_ in pain.

Hearing it now in her muffled and desperate sobs, he was taken abruptly by the need to do something, _anything _to relieve her of it.

He turned towards her, his lips pulled in to a thin line, and he exhaled loudly through his nose.

"Don't." He said. "Don't do that. Just…" his hands clasped more tightly together. "please…" the word came out grudgingly, but still he wasn't able to hide the undertone of desperation, of absolute longing and need.

Jeannie wiped at her eyes, reaching in to her purse to pull a tissue.

"I'm sorry." She said. "I'm sorry, it's just… it isn't you. You've never disappointed me Jack. I didn't… didn't mean for it to s-sound that way."

"But you're sorry for me, is that it?" He asked, his voice suddenly resentful.

She said nothing, continuing to look down, still dabbing at her eyes with the tissue.

The Joker huffed, looking away.

"Well _don't_." He spit.

Several moments would pass in silence then, Jeannie trying hard to control herself, knowing her display was upsetting him. But she found herself unable to quell the tears as they continued relentlessly to gather, thick in her eyes, streaming down her cheeks.

God she had wanted to save him. She had wanted to _so_ much. But she'd finally realized she never could, not if he wasn't willing to let her, not if he couldn't _let _himself.

Her heart broke for him; for how sick he was, how lost. For the fact that he'd been _made_ this way through people's cruelty. The fact that they'd _stolen_ from him what made him beautiful, that they hadn't allowed him to be what he _was_.

They'd strangled all the hope from him, and now, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't give it back to him, couldn't make him believe again that anything would be alright, that anything could be good.

Her love hadn't been enough to rescue him from people's hatred, to save him from their jealousy and their fear and their selfishness.

It hadn't been enough.

Batman stood, as still as before, watching the Joker closely.

What he'd said concerned him. The Joker's will was indeed a strong one. The strongest the vigilante had ever, really encountered, loath as he was to admit it. If he now was aware of Jack's presence within him, and truly determined to quash him down, the crusader feared there would be no hope then of Jack ever reemerging. If that was what the Joker truly wanted.

But something in the way he acted… He _cared_ for Jeanette still. It was apparent, and something the madman hadn't even been able to deny to him. In all the years Batman had known the Joker, he'd never known him to care for anybody, for no one and nothing.

The fact he cared at all for this woman, no matter how miniscule the emotion may have been, like Jeanette had said, it was proof enough that the man within him, the man he had _been_, was still alive, still fighting.

And that gave Bruce hope.

It gave him hope that maybe, underneath it all, the Joker _did _want to be rescued. And maybe, now, because he'd seen again what it is to be loved, truly _loved_, maybe he wouldn't be able to shut himself off anymore, detach himself from the world, and from caring like he for so long had. Maybe that kind of apathy would now be beyond him.

Batman hoped.

For all their sakes, he hoped.

Jeannie continued to cry, still trying in vain to stop herself.

And finally the Joker again glanced at her, that same sinking depression returning as he took in her state.

He couldn't bare it.

He wanted to make it stop.

He sighed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. And for a moment, he said nothing, wondering if he should.

But then finally he forced himself to, disgusted at himself for his feelings of doubt.

"What about…" he started, hesitating a second longer. "your work?" He finally asked. "You were head editor at the Gazette. What are you going to do for money?"

Jeannie looked up at him, continuing to wipe at her eyes, unsure if she'd heard him correctly.

"I'm sorry?" She asked.

"_Money_." He shot, trying to sound exasperated. "What are you going to do for money? San Francisco is almost an expensive as Gotham. It won't be… easy…" his voice suddenly began to grow softer. "… supporting two people on a single income." He looked away from her then, his eyes casting to the ground, memories filling his head, the two of them together, struggling to survive on his meager wages, trapped in the hellhole of the Narrows.

"…O-oh…" she said. "I…" she ran a hand through her hair. "They gave me my old job back, on the San Francisco Times. The… the pay isn't as good, but it's a smaller paper."

She looked down again.

"We should be… alright… I guess." Her voice trailed off, sounding unconvinced of her own words.

He looked back to her, and the thought ran through his mind that he should contact one of his men, have him send her money. He had so damn much of it and he didn't care in the least about any of it. But no, he realized, that would probably make her angry. She wouldn't want it. Stolen cash.

But it was the only kind he had, and he had no other way to help her.

So he said nothing, turning away again and focusing on the wall ahead, his eyes then roaming over the only other fixtures in his cell, a neglected sink and toilet.

Minutes past in silence then, neither of them knowing what to say anymore.

She was afraid to go. Afraid to leave him here, by himself, with no one and nothing.

It seemed so inevitable, all of this; the terrible finality of it leaving her cold inside, empty.

That this time would be the last time she ever saw him again, and to know he would be lost to her then, for good now, forever, it was like knowing he was going to die, and her being powerless to stop it. Just like before, like fifteen years ago.

She'd thought endlessly about the night Jack hadn't come home to her, unable to get it from her head. It had kept her awake, unable to sleep as her thoughts filled with the terrible images and sounds.

Jack had been like a child. As vulnerable as a child, as innocent.

And her guilt all these years had been a near unbearable weight. Because, when he'd needed her, when he'd needed her help, when he'd needed someone to _save_ him, she hadn't been there. She hadn't been there for him. Hadn't been there to protect him, to hold his hand and let him know he wasn't alone, let him know he was going to be alright.

The pictures assaulted her imagination. Of Jack, of her beautiful, sweet boy, her innocent boy, all alone, caught in a hailstorm of violence and corruption and cruelty. In a world he could never have possibly understood.

God, he must have been so _scared_.

And she hadn't been there to help him.

She'd had nightmares, terrible nightmares where she would see him, off in the distance. And it was always the same. He'd be sunk down, arms wrapped around himself, curled in on himself, the way he was whenever he was frightened. And somehow she knew he was crying. She would try calling out to him, try running towards him. But no matter how much she ran, she never seemed to get any closer, and he never seemed able to hear her. And then, from the ground around him, she would see hideous monsters, clawing their way up from the dirt, surrounding him, circling him and drawing in closer. She would scream, yell for them to stay away, to get away from him. But they never listened. And then she would hear Jack, crying out her name, begging her to help him, to save him, his voice desperate and broken. The monsters would come nearer, and he would stand, backing away. She would keep running, never getting any closer, calling back to him at the top of her lungs, telling him she was here, right here, that she was coming. But he couldn't hear her. And she couldn't reach him. The monsters would draw closer, within reach of him, and then they would lash out, grabbing hold, on to his arms and legs, and they would begin to pull him, drag him down. And she could hear him screaming, crying and pleading, still calling for her, still begging for her to save him. But she couldn't, she couldn't, she _couldn't_. The ground would start to open up, and the monsters would begin to pull him in, drag him beneath the dirt from which they came. And she could do nothing. _Nothing_. Until, at last, the earth swallowed him up, his cries silenced as he disappeared from her view, and she would fall to the ground, on her knees, her hands tangled in her hair, ripping at it, pulling viciously as her own, tortured sobs rose up from her throat, her entire frame wracked with heaving sobs.

Then she'd turn around and find herself in a house of endless passageways and rooms. Jack would be standing with his back to her at the end of a long hallway, still as a grave. He was covered from head to foot with the slime and dirt of the monsters. She'd cry out for him as she approached, but he wouldn't turn around until that last, terrible moment where she was standing but a few feet behind him. He'd turn around, his eyes dark and accusatory, filled with a hate she'd never seen before.

Then the skin of his face would melt away, revealing a bleached-white, grinning skull. Screaming, she'd wake up,

Jeannie was a rational woman who didn't believe in premonitions. But recalling the dream in the light of the last few months' events, she'd had to wonder if there hadn't been something to it.

She hadn't been able to save him. He'd cried for her, and she hadn't been there.

All she could think of sometimes was that night, and how scared he must have been.

That night when something so terrible had happened to him, that he hadn't been able to make it back to her. When she knew if he could have… if he _could_ have, he would. He would have come back to her.

For years, she'd tortured herself, imagining he'd been kidnapped by mob dealers, imagined that they'd tortured him for days before finally killing him. Imagined them desecrating his body, cutting him in to pieces and throwing him in the harbor. Or worse still, that they'd weighed him down and thrown him in while he was still alive, letting him drown.

And like in her dream, she thought of him calling for her, _needing_ her, like when he used to wake from his own nightmares, crying her name, lost and confused and terrified. Only then she'd been by his side, able to hold him and kiss him and tell him it was alright. But not that night. Not when it really mattered. And she would dissolve in to sobs at the thought, at how truly alone he'd been in that moment when he'd needed her most.

She'd found out since then what had really happened, that night at Ace, what had become of him, what had kept him from coming home to her, and the reality was no less worse then what her mind had conjured up. In some ways even it had been worse, him lost and alone, addled by mental illness for the last _fifteen_ years, trapped in a constant state of confusion, no memory of his past to cling to, no identity, no connection. Nothing but the feeling of being utterly by himself, and the pain inflicted on him by years and years of abuse, no context for it, no memory of what had caused it. Only the pain and nothing more.

Her gaze shifted back up to him. There he was, sitting right in front of her. But still he was so far away. Still she couldn't reach him.

She feared so terribly what should happen if Jack were to resurface again and she wasn't here.

The Joker had said he wouldn't let that happen, that he would forever keep that part of himself repressed now. But she couldn't quite believe it, couldn't _let_ herself believe it. The Joker _was _Jack, whether he would admit to it or not. Deep down, underneath it all, he was still the boy she fell in love with. And that boy was stronger then he'd ever given himself credit for. Stronger then he was giving himself credit for now.

She didn't want to leave him.

But he was leaving her no choice. She couldn't make him see her anymore if he didn't want to.

And she didn't want to force this on him anymore.

"Jack?" She began quietly, having finally gained control over her crying, her eyes now red.

And he looked at her.

"Jack, I… I don't have much time left. I have to be at the airport in an hour."

He continued to look at her a long moment until, finally, his eyes cast down and he nodded.

"Okay."

Her brow furrowed as her emotion welled back.

Oh Jesus, he was still so much like he used to be, and he didn't even realize it.

How was she going to do this? How was she going to leave him?

"Jack, I…" she paused, looking down, feeling herself begin to tremble with her nerves. "I wanted to ask you for something before… before I go…"

Again he looked to her, and she looked up to him. And in that moment, his face was nearly enough to bring her to tears.

All of the anger had gone, all of the meanness and indifference, all of the annoyance and frustration. And all that was left now was questioning, attentive expectation, him waiting patiently for her to ask, the expression so incredibly like how he'd looked, so long ago, when he'd been so young, and he'd listened to her whenever she spoke with the greatest care and most focused attention. When he'd paid her his absolute respect, never ignoring her, never dismissing her or only _pretending _to hear what she'd said. When he'd looked at her as though she were the most beautiful creature on this earth, treated her with a tenderness and a love so deep, it had at times been enough to make her cry. When she'd seen in his eyes and his actions that she was more important to him, _meant_ more to him, then anything else in the world, and that he would have given everything for her, given his own life.

And now the tears did return to her eyes, sliding down her face. But she held his gaze, and when she spoke, her voice came out strong and steady.

"I want to kiss you Jack." She said. "Will you… will you let me kiss you? Like that day on the bleachers? Like that first time?"

He stared at her a moment, unmoving, his expression unchanging.

And then he blinked, his brow furrowing, and in his eyes shown unhidden pain.

"Y… you want to… you want to kiss me?" He questioned.

And there was the same sort of confusion in his voice as when she'd first told him so, twenty-five years before, the same disbelief.

And she realized it was the same for him now as it had been then.

He still didn't believe anyone could ever love him.

She nodded her head, once more wiping the tears which streaked her face.

"If… if you'll let me. If you want me to."

He stared at her a long time then, just sitting there on his cells cot, only his light green eyes moving, back and forth as they stayed transfixed on her own.

He was thinking, she knew. Maybe wondering if she was sincere. She was, and he would see it. Maybe wondering if he should, if he could allow himself that kind of vulnerability.

Maybe he was scared, like he'd been scared the first time they'd kissed, and he hadn't known what to do. When she'd had to show him, help him and reassure him. Like the first time they'd made love. Like the first time they'd done so _many_ things together, and he'd always been so unsure because he'd never been allowed anything in his life.

And then finally, his expression changed. He blinked rapidly, repeatedly, as though coming out of some kind of trance, and he turned his face away from her, his hand coming up, wiping quickly at his eyes. He swallowed thickly.

"I'd like that…" he said, his voice just barely a whisper.

She exhaled loudly, shakily, the release of tension, and then a sudden nervousness.

"You… you would?" She asked, uncertain.

And he only nodded, his face still turned away.

For a moment longer, she looked at him, fearful somehow it wasn't true, or that he might suddenly change his mind.

But he only sat there, not moving, not looking at her, only waiting.

Until finally she knew he meant it.

And she turned to Batman, looking up at him.

The vigilante looked back at her, giving a vague nod before looking up, past her, beckoning someone forward with his hand from behind the corridor doorway outside the ward.

A moment later, and that door opened, and through it came a security guard.

"She'll be let in now." Batman said to him.

The man looked at him skeptically, then at Jeannie, before tossing a glance at the Joker before going back to the crusader.

"You sure about this Batman?" He asked. "You know we can't be held responsible should anything happen to h…"

"We're sure." He cut the guard off, looking to Jeannie, who in turn gave him a nod.

The guard shrugged, grabbing hold of his keys and moving for the cell door.

"Hey, it ain't my neck on the line here." He said carelessly.

He stopped cold when he looked up in to the cell and saw the Joker, staring directly at him, eyes unblinking and hard. And the man was fast to look down then, unable to hide his slightly trembling hands as he found the correct keycard, having a bit of difficulty placing and sliding it down the reader.

Inside was another door, leading directly in to the cell, a different key required for it.

Both Jeannie and Batman moved forward, waiting to be let in.

And as soon as the guard had slid the second key and the reader gave a loud beep, indicating the lock had been undone, the detective grabbed hold of the doors handle, opening it only a crack before he looked down at the other man.

"Leave." He said.

The guard didn't have to be told twice, scurrying off and disappearing through the corridor entry.

"I'll be right here." Batman said to Jeannie, looking pointedly down at her.

She only nodded, her gaze fixed forward.

She was anxious. Nervous. But not for fear of _him_. Not for fear of him hurting her. Somehow she just knew he _wouldn't_.

It was fear of her own emotions, of what she would feel when she… when she touched him… _held_ him for the first time in… for the first time in fifteen years. She feared her ability to let him go then, to walk away.

But she had to do this. She had to do this for herself, and for him. To just give them this one, last moment together.

She remembered the evening before he'd left for the comedy club, that last night.

He'd been acting strangely for the past week, she recalled. Ever since that night he'd come home with his clothes cut to ribbons. But when she'd tried talking to him about it, he'd shut down. And she'd known then something was wrong. That something was terribly wrong. But she hadn't known then how to deal with it. What to do or say. She realized now, in retrospect, she should have forced him to tell her. He always had told her when she became stern, when she'd reprimanded him. But she'd been trying not to do that, she recalled, thinking it wrong to always treat him like a child. She remembered thinking he would never be able to function properly is she kept that up. But that one time… that one time, God damn it, she _should_ have.

Instead she'd grown frustrated with him. Times had been stressful. She'd been six months pregnant, unable to work, and they'd barely been getting by on the wages he'd been making from his job at Ace.

And then he'd quit, wanting to try his hand at stand up comedy, the notion having somehow entered his head that it was necessary for him to focus 100 % of his time on it. She knew now of course where that notion had come from. That that man, Charlie Zucko, had convinced him of it. And she hadn't told him no because she'd known it was a dream of his, that it had been something he always wanted to do. And she'd known how much courage it took him to get up on a stage in front of people and try, when he'd always had so much difficulty even just talking to a person, face to face.

But because of it all, the money hadn't been there. He wouldn't get paid by the comedy club unless they'd decided to book him as a regular act. At the time she thought they had, because he hadn't told her he'd been let go after his initial performance. She'd understood, if he was booked as a regular, he would be paid weekly. And because he'd been at the club only a week when he'd disappeared, she hadn't suspected anything amiss when he hadn't yet brought home any money.

But she remembered losing her patience in that last week, the accumulation of everything becoming too much. Bills were piling up on the welcome mat, and her pregnancy hormones were going haywire. And she'd snapped at him. Yelled at him. Three days before she would lose him.

It had been the first time she'd ever, really done that.

And she'd never hated herself more then in the moments after, and then the days, and the weeks…

She could still hear herself, hear her hard-edged voice, telling him… screaming at him…

"_God DAMN it Jack, when are you going to grow the hell UP? I can't keep CARRYING you like this! You act like a fucking child! You won't talk to me! And I can't HELP you if you won't fucking LET me_!"

She hadn't meant it. She hadn't meant any of it. It had just been her frustration getting the better of her. But even as the words had been leaving her mouth, she'd already begun to regret it.

He'd flinched visibly, she remembered, his face lining in immediate pain as he looked away from her, his head bowing low, eyes casting to the floor. And then he'd stepped back, arms coming up, wrapping around himself.

He'd turned from her, and she'd known, even before seeing the tremor running through his thin frame, she'd made him cry.

And she'd hated herself so deeply then, the worst kind of disgust, aimed at her own stupidity.

"… _I'm sorry_." He'd said, his voice shaking, so soft she'd barely caught it.

And she'd immediately gone to him, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him as tight against her as she could. She remembered the feel of him, of him trembling in her grasp, and how her own tears had come to her eyes then, sickened by what she'd done.

"_I'm sorry Jack. Oh God, I… I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean that. I didn't. I love you baby. I love you so much_."

But it hadn't been enough.

He'd eventually pulled out of her arms, muttering about how he was tired and wanted to go to bed.

They wouldn't speak again until the next morning, and when they did, he'd only been able to keep telling her he was sorry, over and over, and she'd known her words had stayed with him. But still he wouldn't talk to her, wouldn't tell her what was so troubling him, and eventually, she'd given up, once more allowing her stress and frustration to take hold.

It was almost as if he'd … he'd _known._

Known that he'd be going away soon. Accepted that things could never get better for him, for the both of them. That there could be no happy ending to their story.

That last night, before he'd left, she remembered so clearly, and still her heart bleed with the recollection…

She'd been sitting at the kitchen table, reading a magazine or a newspaper… He'd tried hugging her goodbye, she remembered. He'd come up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, kissing the top of her head before gently resting his chin there.

"_I'm going now Jeannie_." He'd said.

But she hadn't answered, continuing to pretend as though she were absorbed in whatever it was she'd been reading.

She'd felt his arms around her loosen a little then, several seconds passing in silence. And she'd known he was waiting for her to say something. Anything. But she'd been so _annoyed_… so_ confused_.

She'd said nothing.

And finally he'd shifted, straightening as he unwrapped his arms completely.

For a moment he'd kept his hands rested on her shoulders, and then she'd felt him move one to the top of her head, gently cupping her crown in his palm.

"_Please don't be mad at me Jeannie_." He'd whispered. "_Please, I_…"

"_You're going to be late Jack_." She'd cut him off. And she remembered how cold she'd sounded.

_Why_ had she done that? _Why_ had she spoken to him that way?

He'd fallen silent then, several more seconds passing without words. Until at last his hand slipped from the top of her head, and she heard his footsteps as he backed away.

A long moment more, and she remembered how she could feel him still standing there, looking at her.

And then she'd heard him say, his voice quiet…

"_I love you Jeannie_."

And her eyes had closed, tears stinging the backs of them, her head bowing down.

"_I know Jack_." She'd answered, her back still to him. "_Now go_. _Y… you're going to be late._ _I'll… I'll see you later. Okay_?"

But he hadn't replied. And so she'd pushed him.

"_Okay_!"

A few seconds more, and she heard him breathe out in a whisper, his voice shaking…

"_Okay_."

And then she'd heard the door open, a moment later closing behind him.

And she'd turned to find an empty space, him no longer there.

And only then did she realize that she hadn't told him she loved him back.

She didn't know it at that moment, but that space would never be filled again.

She remembered leaping from her chair, going for the door and tearing it open, running out in to the street, searching frantically for him. Because he needed to know, he _needed _to know she loved him. And she'd… she'd forgotten to say it… she'd only forgotten.

… But he'd already gone.

It had been too late.

And she wouldn't see him later.

Because he never came back that night.

Or the next.

Or the next after that.

Until the days he was gone from her life had all merged together in to one, great, unending nightmare.

Until at last she realized, really _realized_… he wasn't ever coming back. Because he was gone. Truly _gone_.

And she hadn't told him she loved him.

She hadn't been there to _save_ him.

She'd telephoned the police, the hospitals; even the ones outside the city limits. Nobody had been admitted or booked under the name 'Jack Napier' in the last two months. She pounded the pavement each night, heavily pregnant, risking her life, visiting every single soup kitchen, bums' hostel and run-down hotel on the off-chance Jack was wandering with amnesia, lost and homeless. She spoke to everyone who'd known him, even vaguely or by sight alone, drawing a blank each time. She'd even gone down to Zucko's club, only to find the place in darkness and boarded up. From what little she'd managed to glean, Zucko had been arrested, sent to Blackgate, and his club shut down by the authorities.

One afternoon a hospital in Newark contacted her, confirming that they had recently admitted a Jack Napier, treating him for a dislocated thumb. Jeannie had allowed her hopes to soar for a matter of seconds before the receptionist informed her that the Mr. Napier in question was seventy-five years old and had lived in the Newark area since 1968.

A few days later, she'd gone into labor.

A few months later, her friend mailed her an air ticket and she left for San Francisco, with baby Rory.

A couple of weeks after that, the Joker made his first deadly appearance in Gotham City.

She looked down, feeling her heart pounding heavy in his chest as she tried to ready herself, praying, _hoping _beyond hope that she may be able to set right, if not wholly, then at least part-way that wrong, committed so very long ago.

Even if Jack wasn't the same man she'd let go that night, still, there was a part of him that _was_. She _knew_ that. And he deserved to know she loved him. Even if she hadn't been able to save him, at least she could let him know she loved him, she _still _loved him.

Because she knew that was all Jack had ever been searching for. His whole life. Beyond the cruelty of people, beyond everything they'd ever made him suffer, he'd searched for love. And he had to know… he _had _to, that in her, he'd found it. He'd truly found it.

And maybe someday, if not today, if not in ten years, or in twenty, if not in thirty or even forty, maybe _someday_, _that_ would be enough. To know he'd been loved, truly and purely, for himself and for nothing else, someday, maybe, that would be his salvation, and he would be delivered from the darkness which had so mercilessly followed him. And which had refused ever to let him go.

If she could do that for him, Jeannie knew, for her, that would be enough.

Finally she looked up, nodding.

And Batman didn't hesitate, pulling the door open.

She stood there in the threshold, her gaze immediately upon him.

And he looked back, sitting there still on his cot.

And for a moment which seemed forever, neither of them moved, each of their eyes locked on the others.

Bruce stood back, watching and silent.

He wouldn't enter the cell with her.

He had no place in there now.

He would only stand by, only move if the Joker gave him cause to.

But somehow he knew that wouldn't happen.

Jeannie realized then she'd been holding her breath. And with a shutter, she released it, stepping forward.

And not a moment past more, he rose to meet her, then standing still, waiting, not daring to motion towards her. Because it could only be disrespectful, he thought, _he _stepping to her. It would be her decision to touch him. Only hers.

He wouldn't interfere.

It would be only an instant more she hesitated, her eyes taking him in, before her years of desperate longing took hold.

She moved for him, covering the tiny space in seeming a flash.

And suddenly she was upon him, wrapping her arms around him, pressing herself to him, her head against his chest. Her hands locked together behind his back, as if to do so would keep him with her always.

He held her back as tight, resting his cheek atop her head, holding on to her as if she were the only thing left in the world to cling to, the only thing left at all.

It was all that mattered then. To have her for that one moment, even knowing he would never have her again, for that one moment, it was all that mattered.

Their eyes closed, and for a second, it was almost like being back in their apartment, like the day they'd moved in, just the two of them. Together.

Their future had seemed so bright then.

They'd been so young. The whole world stretched out before them, waiting. An endless road of potential. Of possibilities. There for them to take, and to hold, and to have.

There'd been hope, and love, and promise.

They'd had each other.

And that was all they'd needed.

That was all either of them had ever needed.

For minutes they clung to each other, neither moving, neither speaking, surrounded only by silence.

Tears ran down her face, soaking through the thin material of his shirt, and he could feel it against his skin.

His arms wrapped tighter.

And she shuttered, exhaling loudly.

"Jack…" she breathed. "Oh God, Jack, I love you. I love you so much."

Finally she motioned with her head to look up at him, and he let her, him in turn looking down.

She unlocked her hands, pressing one against his chest, reaching up with the other, cupping gently the side of his face.

Her fingers ran along the terrible scars which now adorned his once perfect visage, feeling the disfigured tissue. They were smooth, so unlike how they looked, ragged and gnarled and ugly. Like pain.

Her watched her, unmoving.

She blinked, more tears falling from her eyes, down her cheeks.

"I'll always love you Jack." She whispered. "No matter what. I'll always love you."

Her hand moved up, her fingers running in to his hair, running through it.

"And I'll never…" her head shook. "I'll never regret us meeting again. Even if it…" she had to pause, her voice seizing in her throat. "… even if it can't be the same for us ever again…" and now her voice broke heavily, strained with the sobs which threatened at the back of her throat. "I'll always treasure this time we had together. That we could… that we could find each other again, even if… even if only for a little while… it means everything to me Jack. You mean everything to me…"

He looked at her, looked in to her face a long while, his own lined in an emotion he no longer tried to hide. He said nothing, his eyes speaking of the intensity of what he felt. They were focused, seeming to shine, wet, like maybe there should be tears in them. But no tears came. Only his brow creasing in unspoken longing. And regret. And pain.

And then suddenly he shifted, taking gentle hold of her hand within his own, hers disappearing beneath the great width of his palm and long fingers. He pulled it from his face. And then he bent down, so that his lips were beside her ear.

And he whispered to her…

"I love you too Jeannie."

Her heart lifted.

And with it a sob, rising up from her throat and past her lips, and more tears. Tears of relief, of joy and sorrow, hope and longing and wishing and praying.

She wished this could last. She wanted it to last so much.

She reached up, taking hold of his face in her hands. And with no need for thought, with no doubt, no fear, she stood up on her toes, pulling him down the rest of the way to meet her.

She pressed her lips to his, kissing him gently, her eyes closing.

And oh God, he tasted the same.

The only thing keeping her from believing it wholly the scars which now ruined his mouth.

He kissed her back, his eyes drifting shut with her own.

And memory exploded within his mind.

A wave of emotion so strong it was suffocating.

He felt warm suddenly, _safe_. Like everything would be alright.

When all his life, he could only remember the feeling that nothing would.

Tears stung the back of his eyes. Threatening, threatening.

But he forced them away.

Because he didn't cry.

The Joker didn't cry.

Even when he wanted to.

She'd been the only one. The only memory from a better forgotten past which hadn't caused him shame, which hadn't humiliated and hurt him, or made him hate himself.

The only one who'd ever treated him as though he were worth anything at all.

The only one who'd ever loved him.

And made him think of what it was to be loved…

He couldn't do this.

Oh Jesus, he couldn't.

Because it was only her who'd made him realize himself even capable of such a thing.

But she was beautiful.

And he was ruined.

And he would ruin her.

Because that was what he did.

That was what the Joker did.

He ruined beautiful things.

He ruined _everything_.

And a beautiful thing he loved…

He knew himself. He knew himself well.

He would ruin her completely.

And he couldn't allow that.

He couldn't allow himself to destroy the one person who'd ever loved him. Who'd ever in turn made him feel the same.

He pulled back, forcing himself out of her reach. Forcing himself to let go because if he didn't now, he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to again.

He feared his own undeterrable desire, and the inescapable truth of his destructive nature. How all things he sought out, he eventually sought out to undo.

His arms slipped from around her, his eyes casting down.

"Jeannie, you have to leave." And his voice was a whisper.

She looked up at him, her vision blurred by the still thick tears in her eyes.

"Jack, I…" she began to reach up, towards his face.

But he turned from her, moving away. Towards the opposite wall.

"Please, just… you have to go. Please just go now."

She watched him with his back to her, saying nothing, she silent in return.

He was suddenly tense, she saw. His hands clenching to fists at his side, his shoulders rigid, head bowing low.

This was so hard. God, it was so unbearably hard.

She hadn't thought it would be this hard.

She heard him exhale, the breath shuttering. His hands lifted, pressing flat against the wall before him, leaning in to it.

And then he spoke, and his voice was shaking…

"Just go now _please_, before it's too late. You have to _leave me_."

She blinked, her hands shaking as they came up to wipe at her eyes.

"T… too late?" She questioned. "Jack, what do you…"

"Don't you understand?" He cut her short, spinning suddenly round to face her. "You have to go while you _can_. While… while I'll _let _you."

She could hear in his voice he was straining, fighting against his threatening emotion.

"If you keep trying to give this to me, trying to give me what I can't _have_… eventually I won't be able to accept it. I won't be able to let _you _go. And I'll come after you Jeannie, I'll…"

His face crumpled, and quickly he again turned from her, pressing his hands against the wall, leaning his forehead on to it.

His head shook.

"Don't you see?" And his voice was so soft now she barely could hear him. "I'll come after you, and I'll… I'll ruin you. I'll destroy you and Rory both."

Long seconds past in silence then as he continued to lean against the wall, turned from her, too shamed to look at her.

"Everything…" he whispered. "everything around me becomes chaos."

His eyes closed tighter shut. He felt a single tear run down his cheek, and quickly he wiped it away.

"Please don't let me do that to you." He breathed. "Go now and leave me. Forget me. You have to forget me."

Her head shook.

"I couldn't forget you Jack."

"You _have_ to!" He suddenly spit, his voice louder. "Forget me completely. Don't write to me, don't try and see me. Forget I exist. The boy you love is _dead_ Jeannie. He died fifteen years ago and he isn't coming back. You knew that before. You have to know it again. Accept it as you had. For your sake… for… for our son's… I'm dead like you always believed. I'm dead."

Her head continued to shake, her tears relentless.

"No Jack. Don't say that. Please don't say that."

But he only shook his head in return.

"Just go." He said. "Just leave me alone. Don't you understand? That's all I'm meant to be. That's all I was ever meant to be."

For minutes then she stood in silence, watching him, his back still to her. He wouldn't turn around. He wouldn't look at her.

Until finally she _did_ understand.

There was no changing this.

No changing any of this.

No changing what had happened.

It was done. It was over.

And with the realization, she had to look away from him.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe he always _had _been meant to be alone.

Maybe that had always been his fate.

Maybe she wasn't supposed to have gone up to him that day in class, 31 years ago. Wasn't supposed to have talked to him.

Wasn't supposed to have become his friend.

And then his lover.

And then his wife.

Maybe she was supposed to have ignored him and dismissed him, and treated him like he was worth nothing. Like all the other children had done.

And he'd never been meant to have anyone.

Meant always to be alone.

Maybe that was why everything had always seemed to go so wrong for them, why wherever they went, a darkness had followed.

And they hadn't been able to escape it, locked on a course with an inevitable outcome, no way off, no way out.

Fate righting a wrong.

She'd felt it, hadn't she? Since the beginning.

She'd felt it.

Something bad was going to happen to Jack.

And he wasn't going to be alright.

But she couldn't believe that.

She _couldn't._

No matter how bad things had become, no matter how horribly they'd turned out… she and him had _belonged_ together.

Jeannie and Jack.

They'd defied fate, broken through the barriers and every obstacle ever put in their way, and they'd found each other.

An unlikely pair.

A girl from the suburbs, and a boy from the Narrows.

She'd seemed to have it all, on the surface. Her beauty, her wealth, her talent. Parent's who'd provided her with everything she could possibly ever need. Except… except they'd treated her more as a trophy then as a daughter.

Their love for her had always been unsure.

And he…

He had had nothing. Poor, and abused, and stricken with a condition which had made it impossible for him to ever fit in. Blessed with an intelligence which, in the end, had also done to him the same.

And there had been no unsure love from his father.

There had simply been no love at all.

But through that, through perfectly opposite circumstances, and radically different social status, from opposite sides of one of the largest cities on earth, and an age difference of almost four years, they'd found each other. And given the other what each was missing from their lives.

Love.

A love stronger then any fate could ever be.

And that too she'd felt, above everything else.

They were for each other.

Fate be damned.

Their being together was as it _should _have been, whether it had been meant to be or not.

"Okay Jack." She finally said. "Okay."

And she moved for the door.

Batman stepped aside, anticipating her exit.

But suddenly she stopped, just beside it, and looked down, her hands clenching to fists. She shook, and waited…

Their love had been stronger then fate.

It had brought them together again.

And she would say one thing more to him.

One thing more.

"… Be good to yourself, Jack Napier... Whether you know it or not, you're still the boy I love."

She exited, Batman releasing his hold on the handle. And with the sound of the door locking shut, she fell in to him, crumbling, clinging to him in desperation as she sobbed uncontrollably.

It was over. It was over.

Batman held her back, moving her away gently, to the wards exit.

All he could do.

And the Joker stood, still, listening as her sobs grew further from him, fainter. Listening then as the ward's exit opened, and then closed, and her sobs were near inaudible.

Listening… listening…

Until he heard her no more.

He turned, met with his own reflection in the Plexiglas window of his cell.

For a long time he just stood there, staring at himself, unmoving.

Until finally he let go. And he exhaled with a shuttering breath…

"Jesus… I hate you sometimes."

And only his reflection was there to hear him.

… She was gone.

And he was… alone.

_**Fin**_

**The end guys! **

**Okay, but before you get your panties all in a bunch, I've been working diligently on a sequel, which I've already written several chapters too. So there's an option for all of you out there.**

**Those who prefer the overbearingly sad ending of this tale, you can leave it at that, and simply ignore the sequel I have planned. And for those of you who prefer a continuation of Jack and Jeannie's tale, and not the total loss of hope, you can read the sequel, haha. **

**I'm going to have an epilogue to this story too at some point, hopefully very soon, which will lead in to the sequel. And you can read that to give you an idea of how we get to the beginning of the next story, sort of, what circumstances took place to lead to that beginning. **

**Anyway, I can't thank everyone enough for reading this story and for sticking with me through the whole thing, leaving me feedback and favoriting it, etc… Your support has meant the absolute world to me.**

**I've really loved writing these characters and creating this little world for them, and I'm happy you all have enjoyed it too. If you get the chance, please leave me a review and tell me your thoughts. And I promise I'll get back to all of you.**

**Hope you enjoyed.**

**Once more, a MASSIVE thank you to my beta, TheMadCapLaughs, for her amazing inspiration and contributions to this chapter and to this story all around. I never would have finished it without her.**

**Tell me what you think guys and Happy New Year!**


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